Welcome Her Home with Red Roses (T Rated Version)
by Labyrinth01
Summary: After spending a month in Atlanta, Brenda is reunited with Fritz and prepares to start a new chapter in her life. This is the final story in the "Welcome Home" series. (There is also an M-rated version of this story.)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's notes: **At long last... this is the final story in the "Welcome Home" series, which follows Brenda to Atlanta after she leaves Major Crimes, and her return to LA after doing a lot of soul-searching and experiencing some personal growth. The first story in this series was "Thirteen Days, Seven Hours, Thirty-Six Minutes," the second was "Photograph," and the third was "The Second Daughter." You will all be pleasantly surprised to learn this is story will relatively angst-free.

I am trying something new here. I am writing and posting both a T and am M-rated version of this story. FYI, in this chapter, I borrowed several paragraphs from "Photograph" to augment the story (just clean stuff, of course). So if you read "Photograph" and things sound a little familiar, that's why. You only need to read one version or the other of each chapter; they won't differ except for the naughty stuff will be tamed down for the T versions, so pick your poison, clean or smutty. This way, I am hoping everyone will get to enjoy a romantic Brenda/Fritz story that fits their comfort level. I do apologize to those of you who follow me that you will get spammed with two e-mails each time I update.

Fingers crossed that I don't post the wrong chapter in the wrong place...

Thanks for Kate Rosen for editing this and catching all my sloppy mistakes.

And before you start what I'm sure will end up being a very long story, please make sure to read the wonderful works by my partners in crime. Don't miss Kate Rosen's "Something Better," ManateeMama's hilarious "Girl's Night Out" (rumor has it she's got more stuff coming soon) and ProcrastinationQueen's "Letting Go." I am humbled by the influx of new Closer fanfic talent who love Brenda/Fritz as much as I do.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Fritz decided on red roses. He hesitated while in the florist, tempted by the soft petals of a bouquet of small pink roses with their delicate spray of baby's breath, because he knew how much Brenda loved pink. But after minutes of indecision, he finally chose red roses, the color of fresh blood, because he knew when Brenda came down the corridor at LAX toward where the visitors had to wait, the vibrant shade would catch her eye. He hoped _he_ would catch her eye, but a bouquet of a dozen red roses bought at one of LA's high end florists wouldn't hurt. Besides, the flowers were only the first of many surprises he had waiting for her.

Brenda was coming home after being in Atlanta for exactly 29 days, four hours, and twenty-three minutes, and Fritz had stopped at the florist on his way to LAX to pick her up. And he felt like a little kid on Christmas morning. He rubbed the tips of the satin petals against his lips and thought about Brenda's sweet mouth, so soft and yet so demanding. He imagined running this very rose gently down Brenda's body, and the look on her face from the gentle touch. He shook his head and forced himself to stop thinking such things, needing to focus if he was going to get to the airport on time.

He couldn't sleep the night before, tossing and turning and thinking about all the things he would be doing with his wife exactly 24 hours later. Around 3am he got up and pulled off his tee-shirt, which was stuck to his sweaty chest, and took a cold shower, something he had never done before but only seen in the movies. It helped, and he went back to bed, concentrating hard on baseball stats and nothing else until he finally fell asleep.

He took the whole day off to meet Brenda at the airport, even though her flight wasn't due in until 3PM. He woke up around 11, feeling like he had finally gotten some quality sleep after tossing and turning out of sexual frustration most of the night. He took a nice long run, and then a relaxing shower, making a point to use the shampoo and soap Brenda liked to smell on him. He had a little problem deciding what to wear, and had to laugh at himself for acting like a woman. He wanted to look nice for her, but it was the middle of the day, so a suit was too dressy. He settled on a pair of khakis and a maroon button-down Brenda had bought him for Christmas. Taking one last look at himself in the mirror, he packed up the car and headed out. Even with his indecision and dawdling while picking out roses at the florist, traffic was light, and he knew he was going to arrive at the airport ridiculously early.

Fritz had been so busy running around at home that he forgot to check his cell phone, and it wasn't until he was in the silence of his car that he heard the "chirp" that indicated he had received a text. At the next stoplight he pulled out his phone, and seeing that the text was from Brenda, he cursed to himself for letting his phone out of his sight. It read, "Fritzy, my flight was delayed an hour. Now I have to wait even longer to see you!" Fritz groaned. Poor Brenda was stuck at the Dallas/Forth Worth airport for an extra-long layover, and he didn't answer her back. She was probably bored out of her mind and a little upset. He started to pull over and text her back, but then he remembered that she would be in the air and couldn't use her phone. _And now I'm going to be at LAX an hour early, all wound up with no Brenda_, he thought. _Crap._

Not being able to think of any errands to run along the way, and with Brenda's bouquet sitting on the passenger's side of the car, her big surprise all in order and not needing any finishing touches from him, he proceeded to the airport. He mumbled a few curses when he saw the hourly parking rate, but he knew why he was really upset. He felt like all he had been doing for the past month was waiting to see Brenda again, and just at the cusp of being reunited…he had to wait even longer. His patience had officially worn off. He wanted his wife. _Now._

* * *

Fritz missed the pre-September 11 days when you could watch people walk off the plane. It always felt so great to be able to greet someone right when they landed, instead of having to head them off on their way to Baggage Claim, like he would have to do today. Roses in hand, he positioned himself as close to Gate 31 as he could get, and kept checking the monitor in hopes that the words next to American Airlines Flight 679 would miraculously change from "Delayed" to "On Time." He paced back and forth, trying to work out some of his tension, and occasionally stopping to play a round of "Words with Friends" with Jerry to distract himself before he resumed pacing. After taking his turn and scoring a whopping five points, he looked up to see an older woman with a bemused expression on her facing staring at him. Warm eyes met his.

"I don't think I've ever seen anyone so agitated at the airport before," she said in a friendly voice. "You must be waiting for someone special."

Fritz turned to her, glad for the distraction. "Yes, I am," he replied. She was in her mid-sixties, but in typical LA fashion, was very stylish, well groomed, and quite attractive. "I'm waiting for my wife. She's flying in from Atlanta today."

"Ahh. What a lucky woman she is," she nodded to the bouquet in Fritz's arm. "Has she been gone long? Not that I mean to pry. I'm just a nosy old lady who longs for the days when a handsome man greeted me with roses."

"You aren't prying, and you certainly don't seem old to me," Fritz answered, liking the kind woman. "And she's been gone for a month." Without intending to, Fritz found himself telling this stranger about Brenda's mother dying and how she had just quit her job as head of Major Crimes, and decided to spend time with her sick father before starting her new position. He left out the part about Phillip Stroh, because he didn't want to horrify this complete stranger, to whom he was already divulging too much personal information. Even though Fritz was an eight-year veteran of AA, he still wasn't someone who was comfortable spilling his guts to people he didn't know, so he was surprised to hear himself go on and on to this woman. It was probably nerves, but it felt good to talk to someone about how much he had been missing Brenda. Jerry was sick of hearing about it and had no qualms telling Fritz as much.

"My goodness, the poor thing! That's an awful lot to deal with," the woman said. "But she must be a tough one, your wife, being so high up in the LAPD and all. You must be very proud of her."

"I am," he said, feeling himself get choked up. He meant it, too. For all of Brenda's faults, Fritz had a profound admiration for what a strong person she was. He doubted anyone else could cope with two career-threatening lawsuits, two near-shootings, finding their mother dead, and being attacked and almost killed all within a year's time and live to tell the tale. Fritz knew Brenda stuffed her emotions down and what was often an illusion of strength was really denial, but in Atlanta she seemed to learn how to really mourn, how to cry. Not only that, but she was asking him for help, stating what she needed, and reaching out when she was hurt instead of brushing him off with her usual "I'm fine!" Fritz was heartened by the changes he saw, and hoped that if any good came out of Willie Rae's unexpected death, it would be Brenda's finally being able to connect with her feelings instead of burying them with work. She was so good at running away, his girl, and he crossed his fingers that all the trials she had gone through had taught her how to stand still for once.

He pulled out his iPhone to find a picture of Brenda to show to the woman. He knew he was superficial, but he loved to show Brenda off. And he certainly had a lot of pics to choose from. With Brenda being gone for an entire month, they had gotten into the habit of texting pictures of each other almost every day. They were just scenes from their daily lives: Brenda dressed in her running clothes stretching out, Fritz sitting in his office chair, Brenda eating breakfast-mundane moments in an ordinary day. At first, Brenda reported, when she asked Clay to take pictures of her doing nothing particularly exciting to send to Fritz, he grumbled up a storm. "He said he hated the way my camera phone worked, why couldn't I at least use a real camera instead of something you were supposed to talk on, doesn't Fritz remember what I look like anyways, and on and on," she said, during one of their late-night conversations. But after a few days, Clay got into it, and saw it as a game to grab Brenda's phone and take pictures of her when she wasn't expecting it. "Now it's like livin' with the paparazzi," she grumbled. "I have created a monster." Fritz encouraged her to send any and all photos Clay took, so his phone was filled with silly shots such as Brenda brushing her teeth, taking a nap on the couch, and, one of his favorites, clearly in mid-rant with a red face, squinty eyes, and blurred hands. He wondered what Brenda was lecturing Clay about and how she reacted to him grabbing the phone from her and snapping a picture. But Clay also managed to capture a few poignant shots, too. Fritz's favorite was taken from the back window of the Johnsons' kitchen. Brenda was sitting amidst the branches of the large, gnarly pecan tree that grows in the backyard. She had climbed up the tree and was ten feet or so off the ground, something Fritz knew she did as a child but was surprised to see she still could. She rested her arms flat against a large tree trunk with her fingers entwined, and laid her cheek on her arm, her head turned sideways. She looked so forlorn, like a lost child or a heartbroken dryad, that Fritz couldn't help but pull his phone out all day long and stare at the image. His old partner Jerry tried to pull the iPhone out of Fritz's hand, saying, "man, what are you starin' at? Brenda sendin' you naked pictures?" but Fritz was too fast. He didn't want anyone else to see this picture that revealed so much sadness in Brenda's soul. It even hurt his eyes to look.

Fritz flipped past that shot, plus several others he knew Brenda wouldn't want him showing to anyone until he reached the picture she had sent him two days ago with the message, "less than 48 hours to go!" In the picture Brenda was standing outside of her parents' house, wearing a pink floral sundress with thin spaghetti straps. Her hair was down and wildly curly, the way he liked it. Her nose was slightly sunburnt, and she was smiling at Charlie, who was taking the shot. Fritz showed his phone to the older woman, who put on her glasses to look. "That's Brenda," he said, not able to keep a note of pride out of his voice.

"Oh, she is beautiful! The two of you must really turn heads," she said. "I bet no one thinks she is a cop. She's just a little slip of a thing."

Fritz smirked. "Yea, no one thinks she's a cop until she opens her mouth. Brenda can be pretty scary."

"Lucky you." He rolled his eyes theatrically.

Fritz realized he had been babbling about himself, and hadn't asked the woman a single question. He had another 30 minutes to wait, so he might as well make friends.

"Are you also waiting on the flight from DFW?" She nodded. "Who are you waiting for, if I may ask? Oh, I'm Fritz, by the way." He extended his hand.

"Lily," she said, shaking his hand with a surprisingly firm grip. "And yes, you may ask, because I'm pretty excited too. My granddaughter Alexis is coming to visit for two weeks before school starts. I haven't seen her since Christmas."

"That's great!" Fritz said. "How old is she?"

"Sixteen."

Fritz groaned. "Oh, I feel sorry for you." He regretted it as soon as he said it. Lily's smile faded. "Oh, I shouldn't have said that, I didn't mean..." Fritz had stuck his foot in his mouth and he knew it.

"Why would you say you feel sorry for me?" Lily raised an eyebrow. "Not a fan of teenagers?"

"That was really rude of me," he said. "It's just that a couple of years ago, Brenda's niece Charlie came to visit for a few weeks. Charlie was 16 and completely out of control." Fritz shook his head. "She caused a lot of trouble in a short period of time."

"What kind of trouble?" Lily asked. "I'm curious. I raised three daughters, and I'm wondering if you can possibly surprise me."

Fritz found himself oversharing yet again with the older woman. He told Lily about the marijuana Charlie's friend mailed to her, and the subsequent pot brownies she made. And that Brenda, a chocolate addict, ate three of them. To his surprise, the dignified older woman started laughing so hard she covered her mouth with her hand.

"Wait a minute. Your wife honestly had no idea she was eating a pot brownie? And she couldn't tell she was getting high? Didn't she go to college?" Lily looked at him in mock disbelief as she fought to calm herself.

"Well, Brenda never smoked pot before. She always planned to go into law enforcement, so she didn't do any drugs in college. She didn't want to jeopardize future background checks if she went into government, which she did."

Lily wiped her eyes and shook her head in amusement. "Oh, that really must have been funny for you, though, to come home and find your wife baked and having no idea something was wrong with her."

Fritz found absolutely nothing funny about it, and was surprised the elegant grandmother in front of him did. "No, actually, I wasn't too amused," he said coolly. "I'm in recovery, and it would have been really bad if I had eaten one of those brownies."

Lily's face fell. "I'm so sorry, Fritz. I didn't mean to be insensitive. "

Fritz felt like a jerk. Why did he have to get all serious, on today of all days? Now Lily would go away and he would have no one to talk to for the next-he looked down at his watch-22 minutes. "Don't feel bad, I guess I don't have much of a sense of humor about those things. I'm a federal agent, and with Brenda being at the LAPD and me in recovery, well, pot brownies in the house are not a good thing."

"And I'm so sorry I laughed," Lily said. "You have to understand, I was a flower child in the 60's. Pot brownies were a staple in my commune. It is just amusing to me to think of someone getting stoned and having no idea they were doing it!"

Fritz tried to picture the woman in front of him, wearing a Chanel suit and matching purse, makeup tastefully applied, her thick, shiny gray hair done up in a French twist, living the life of a hippy. He just couldn't do it.

Fritz thought back to that night. _Okay, Brenda was really funny_. What was even funnier was how frisky she was. After he got off the phone with Amy's mother, Brenda set down her Cheetos and attacked him. He had gently pushed her away, too irritated to kiss her, not to mention Charlie was in the other room. He dragged her into the bedroom with the intent of putting her to bed so she could sleep off her high, but she had a very different idea. After several attempts to try to settle her in were met with resistance, he relented to her aggressive advances. Brenda always got what she wanted, and that night she wanted sex. The pot kicked her libido into overdrive, and Fritz's admonitions to quiet down so Charlie wouldn't hear were ignored. After one particularly lively round, Charlie knocked loudly on the wall that separated their bedrooms and yelled, "Keep it down in there!" Fritz thought he'd die from mortification. Brenda, who was busy studying her palm in the ambient light from the windows, looked at him, said, "screw her," and kissed him lustily. _I kinda like stoned Brenda_, he thought. So it went on all night. The next morning when she awoke with a pot hangover, she squinted at him disapprovingly and said, "Fritz, I can't believe you took advantage of me in that state."

He was pulled out of his reverie by Lily clearing her throat. "Sorry, I was just thinking," he said, trying not to sound like he was just daydreaming about being in bed with his wife. "Well, Lily, I guess I don't have to ask you where you stand on the issue of legalizing pot," Fritz said. Realizing he had been monopolizing the conversation, and any more X-rated flashbacks of Brenda could be dangerous, he said, "Hey, why don't you tell me why Alexis is the kind of 16-year-old that my niece isn't?"

* * *

Fritz enjoyed talking with Lily so much that he forgot to look at his watch for several minutes. Lily's stories about her talented, artistic granddaughter held his attention, and he was relieved to find out that not all teenager girls were as self-absorbed as Charlie was. _I must be getting old_, he thought. _Soon I'm going to start sentences with, "kids these days!"_

When he realized a significant amount of time had passed, he forced himself to keep his arm firmly wrapped around the bouquet of flowers instead of looking at his watch. He knew his impatience wasn't going to make her plane land any quicker. He shifted his weight and realized he really needed to go to the bathroom. A quick glance to the TV monitor confirmed that Brenda's plane hadn't landed yet, so he asked Lily to hold the roses and headed to the Men's room. He didn't want to waste one post-debarking minute with Brenda using the facilities. He took care of business and washed his hands, scrutinizing his appearance in the mirror. He had gotten his hair cut two weeks ago, and it was the perfect length. Although Brenda said she liked the brush of gray at his temples, he didn't, and he had his stylist Michael use some coloring and erase it. _I have really turned LA_, he thought to himself, combing his hair and popping in a breath mint. _I am now dying my hair to look younger_. All in all, he thought he looked pretty good for a man staring down 50. His recent weight loss wasn't the healthiest, brought on by missing Brenda and overexercising to fill the void, but at least he was in good shape. He was acutely aware of all the male attention Brenda garnered when they went out in public, and he always wanted to make sure she never found him unattractive and started to look elsewhere. He had always secretly worried that humdrum sex was just the price you paid for being married, so he was very pleasantly surprised to find that their sexual chemistry only grew stronger with time. The more secure Brenda felt in their relationship, the more adventurous she became, much to his perpetual surprise and delight.

His mind, and body, were drifting off again. He splashed cool water on his face to calm himself down. _Soon_, he thought. _But not now_. Control regained, he tossed his used paper towels in the bin and left the Men's room.

Lily held the roses out to him as he approached, her face glowing. "I am so glad you're back, Fritz!" she said excitedly. "Look." She nodded in the direction of the monitor. Next to "American Airlines Flight 679, Dallas/Fort Worth," was the word he had been searching for: "Landed."

"Oh thank god," he said, relieved. "I thought it would never come." He looked at the clock on the wall. The flight was an hour and fifteen minutes late. Don't planes ever land on time anymore?

Fritz began to bounce on the balls of his feet again, and after several minutes and a few passes back and forth while Lily watched him with a bemused expression on her face, people started walking down the corridor. They were greeted and hugged, and Fritz looked at them jealously. No Brenda.

"Oh, of course," he groaned. He forgot about Brenda's post-flight ritual. After flying anywhere, she always stopped at the bathroom as soon as she deboarded, saying not only did she have to pee, but she needed to freshen up. "Somethin' about flyin' makes me feel so dirty!" she would say. "Plus, I wanna look nice." Fritz would end up waiting outside the Women's room for 15 minutes while Brenda brushed her teeth, put on deodorant, reapplied makeup, and fussed with her hair. And since she hasn't seen me in a month, he thought, she is going to be in there twice as long, to make sure she looks nice for me. He wanted to cry from impatience.

Someone squealed. A young girl with long, cinnamon-colored hair and freckles was running toward Lily, who threw open her arms to receive her. "Gigi!" the girl cried. "Oh, I am so glad to see you!" The two hugged and whispered to each other, Lily stroking the girl's hair.

Gigi? Fritz thought to himself. _That's not what I called my grandmother._ _Sounds like a stripper name._ The flow of people from Brenda's flight walking toward him had thinned, but there was still no sign of her. He knew she would be the last one to appear.

Lily touched Fritz's shoulder. "Alexis, I would like you to meet my new friend, Fritz. Fritz and I have been chatting for the past hour while we've been waiting for your plane. He's here to pick up his wife who is coming in from Atlanta. He hasn't seen her in a month, and he's a little anxious."

Alexis smiled. She was a pretty girl, makeup-free but with a pierced nose. "Nice to meet you. Glad you kept my Gigi company." She wrinkled her forehead, as if concentrating. "Hey, the lady who sat next to me on the plane was from Atlanta. She told me she hadn't seen her husband in a long time too. She said she's a cop, which is funny, because she's kinda batty."

Fritz couldn't believe the coincidence. "Did she have long blonde hair and a strong Southern accent?"

"Yes! Her name is Brenda, and she told me all kinds of stories about working for the LAPD. Hey, was I sitting next to your wife?" Alexis had turned toward Fritz, seemingly more interested now knowing he was attached to the intriguing stranger she met on the plane.

Fritz grinned. "Yes, you were. And you must be really special, Alexis, because Brenda normally doesn't like to talk to people on planes."

"That's funny, because she talked nonstop. Said she was nervous about finally getting to see you after so long. So she kept telling me all these stories about when she was in charge of this major division of the police department here. Hey-" she leaned closer to Fritz- "did she really meet Whit Coleman?" Alexis's eyes were wide.

"Yes, I believe she did. Right around the time the world found out he was gay."

"What a waste," murmured Lily.

"And was she really beat up by a bride when she messed up the wedding because the funeral held right before had a girl in the same coffin as the dead guy?" Alexis' hazel eyes were wide. Fritz imagined that some of Brenda's stories would make their way into Alexis's "what I did this summer" obligatory essay for school.

"Oh yes, that and so much more. I can tell Brenda kept you very entertained," he said, grinning at the girl. "But it would take a lot longer than a 3 hour flight to hear all the good stories."

"And she told me she investigated a case of a murdered Santa!" the girl said excitedly. "I mean, who would kill Santa, that's-oh hey, there's Brenda now!" Alexis raised her arm and waved.

Fritz swung around and looked at the near-empty corridor leading from Gate 31, and he spotted her immediately. She wore a dark red wrap-around dress that tied at her hip, and the slit showed a good deal of leg each time she walked. Her hair was down around her face, and, as he suspected, she looked like she had just put on fresh lipstick. She was gorgeous. She was looking straight at him, clearly trying to catch his eye, and his heart started to race and his breathing grew rapid. The arm holding the roses began to droop, and without being asked Lily took them. He locked eyes with her and the entire world melted away. She was even more beautiful than he had remembered her, and the 1,000 watt smile directed at him lit up the entire terminal.

Brenda started trotting toward him, and when she was within hearing distance, she called out his name. He waved, but was so anxious that his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. People cleared out of Brenda's way after she almost knocked over an old man in her path. Closer still, she broke into a run. Lily pulled Alexis out of the way so Brenda would have unfettered access to Fritz, and he lunged forward to grab her just as she threw herself into his arms. Her large purse swung around and hit him on the backside, but he didn't care. "Fritz, my Fritzy!" Brenda squealed, and he held her small body close to his, and all the dreams he had over the past month came true at once.

"Brenda, honey," he tried to say, but found his voice choked with tears. Brenda pulled out of his embrace a bit, at least as far as he would let her, and gazed up at him. She rested a small hand on his cheek and gave him such a look of love that he stopped caring that he was in public. He kissed her with all the force of his loneliness, of his desire for her, of his longing. She kissed him back with equal ferocity and abandon. At last they pulled back for air and when they did, the small group of people who had gathered around them clapped. Brenda, who hadn't realized they were creating a scene, shrugged out of Fritz's arms and hitched her purse to her shoulder, her cheeks crimson. Fritz, on the other hand, wanted to take a bow. _See what a beautiful wife I have_, he wanted to say. _See how much she loves me_.

"Whoa," he heard Alexis say. "I had no idea old people acted like that."

Brenda and Fritz looked at each other and laughed. Their audience dispersed, and Fritz gently took her hand, bringing the knuckles to his lips for a gentle kiss. He put his mouth next to her ear and whispered the words that had been ripe fruit ready to fall off his tongue:

_"Welcome home."_

**_"Please sir, may I have some more...feedback?"_**

**_ -Oliver Twist_**


	2. Chapter 2

**Welcome Her Home with Red Roses (CLEAN)**

******Author's Notes:** Well, we got Brenda off the plane, now can we get her out of LAX?

This story is going to go like this: you know how, when you are going through something really special, time seems to slow down? It's as if every hour is a day. Of course, looking back, it all whizzed by, but when you are experiencing it, time flows blissfully slowly. That is how this story is unfolding. Brenda and Fritz have been separated a month, and it has been a very intense, painful time (read Thirteen Days and The Second Daughter) and now they are reunited, and every minute sparkles. So their first few days back together is going to take up a few chapters. However, time will move a bit faster later on and we are going to see Brenda settle into her new life. The story will end up being longer than I thought, but that's okay. We have plenty of time. I like to write, you like to read, so it's all good.

** Remember, there is also an M-rated version of this story**. The M-rated version is on Smutpuppies, and both versions will be on . Obviously, this is the T-rated version. The M-rated version is twice as long! The plot is the same in both, just the naughty bits are removed here.

Thanks to Kate R for editing this for me.

Hey, before you dig in, make sure you have read the latest chapter of "Letting Go" by Procrastination Queen.

**Chapter ****2**

"Alright Alexis, you take Brenda's arm, gently now, and I'll take Fritz's, and we'll slowly guide them to Baggage Claim. Or Brenda will never see her luggage again."

"Yea, but Gigi, they're cops. If we touch them funny won't they go all Kung Fu on our asses?"

Fritz smiled into Brenda's hair and pulled himself away from her. He didn't realize he had been standing and holding her so long that there was a chance that the luggage for Brenda's flight may no longer be available. Watching Brenda have a hissy fit in Baggage Claim would not be a great way to start their reunion.

"It's okay, we're touching back down to earth," Fritz said. "Right, honey?" He looked down at Brenda, wrapped in his arms. She wore a slightly dazed expression and had tears in her eyes.

"Earth?" she said, looking at him like he was her savior. "Where's earth?" _She is so damn cute, _he thought, and kissed her nose.

Lily cleared her throat, afraid, Fritz thought, that they would fall back into a trance. She stepped up to Brenda and held out the roses Fritz had bought, which Lily had taken possession of when Fritz needed both arms to grab Brenda when he first saw her. "Brenda, these are for you," she said, passing them to Brenda as she held out her arms. "Aren't they gorgeous? Your husband has excellent taste."

Brenda looked down at the roses, then over at Fritz, and then at Lily. "Thank you, Ms.- Complete-Stranger-Who-Gives-Me-Flowers-and-Knows-Who-I-Am." She raised an eyebrow at Lily and gave her one of her intimidating interrogator looks. _She didn't attend Charm School when she was in Atlanta, that's for sure_, thought Fritz.

Before Fritz could open his mouth, Alexis stepped between them. "Brenda, hey, remember me, Alexis, your seatmate? I told you I was coming to visit my grandmother. This is her, she jerked her thumb in Lily's direction, "and I guess she and your husband Fred, no, _Fritz_, became besties while waiting for our flight. Isn't that funny?" Alexis grinned, and with her red hair, thin frame, and barely controlled adolescent enthusiasm, Fritz couldn't help but think of an Irish Setter.

With arms wrapped around Brenda's shoulders, he steered her towards Baggage Claim behind Lily and Alexis. "If it wasn't for Lily here, I would have gone completely berserk waiting for you. I didn't get your text saying you were going to be delayed, so I was here for a long time before you landed."

Lily looked at the monitor and gestured for the group to follow her. "Carousel 23. And it was mutual, Fritz. I would have been bored out of my skull too. Instead I got to hear all about you, Brenda." Lily looked at Brenda and smiled.

To Fritz's surprise, Brenda extended her hand. "Brenda Leigh Johnson. And you have quite an interestin' granddaughter. She kept me entertained the entire flight."

Lily reached out and took Brenda's hand in both of hers. "Lily Powers, and it is wonderful to meet you. And I heard it was you who kept Alexis entertained." Lily released Brenda and caught Alexis by the arm to intentionally slow her pace, nodding at Brenda and Fritz to go ahead. He appreciated Lily's attempt to give them some privacy, but there would be time for that later.

"...and there were these two guys who worked for her who were always screwing up and getting into trouble," he heard Alexis say behind him. "One time, they found a body in the one guy's garage. Like, who just finds a body in their garage? Anyways, even though they're cops and know better, they left the body there because they were late for a Dodger's game and had really good seats. And the body was gone when they got back."

"Oh my," Lily said. "Although that kind of sounds like something your father would do. Ignore a dead body if a baseball game was starting, that is."

"Only if it was the Red Sox. And during a good season."

"Well, if only during a good season, then I guess that dead body wouldn't get lonely after all!" Lily and Alexis snorted. Fritz was amazed how this woman could be so classy and yet so down-to-earth at the same time.

Fritz could feel Brenda tremble from suppressed laughter though his arm thrown over her shoulder.

"Oh and this is the coolest ever, Gigi. Brenda's niece, who was 16, my age, came and stayed with them for a few weeks, and Brenda took her to work with her. Can you imagine if Aunt Crystal took me to work when it was all about murders and death? Mom would flip. Anyways, Charlie, that's her name, she actually helped out on a couple cases, and she basically solved one! For real, Brenda said! Charlie was the one who figured out who shot this other kid. Charlie sounds like the coolest girl ever!"

Fritz didn't know if he was stifling a groan or a laugh, but he was stifling something. Brenda would not be happy if she knew he had told Lily about the pot brownie adventure. He hoped Lily didn't repeat anything he had said about Charlie, whom he certainly didn't describe as "the coolest girl ever."

But Lily was a class act. "Her name was Charlie, you say?" she said, and Fritz could hear the humor in her voice, which she raised a bit, to make sure, he guessed, that he heard. "Sounds like that Charlie is a real go-getter, a model teen."

"Darn straight she is," Brenda said softly, hugging Fritz with the arm she had slung around his waist. "Well, she is now. Told me time and again it was the summer with us that straightened her out. Now she's gonna be a sophomore at Georgetown and is on the Honor Roll."

Fritz quickly leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Together, we are our own version of "Scared Straight." He looked back and tipped his head toward Alexis. "I just hope you didn't get carried away with your reminiscing and tell her about some of your more gruesome cases."

The smile slid off her face, and Fritz felt her small body tense. "Uh, no," she said. "No, no, just the funny ones." She disengaged herself from Fritz before he could stop her. "There is our carousel, and, oh my, I think all my luggage is there!" She walked quickly toward a carousel that only had a handful of bags on it and was nearly ploughed over by Alexis making a mad dash toward her suitcase.

"It will come around again, honey," Lily called to Alexis. "It's like karma. The conveyer belt always comes back to you."

Fritz could tell by the look on Brenda's face that she was amused by Lily, and the dark cloud that had just shadowed her face had blown over. She managed to pull one of her bags off the conveyer belt, and Fritz jogged ahead and grabbed the other two.

"All set!" he said, amazed at the bags' weight.

"Not quite," Brenda said sheepishly. "There are three more bags on the belt that belong to me."

Fritz looked at her. "Three?"

"Mama's stuff," she said. "Daddy insisted I take it. I mailed a bunch too."

Fritz was thinking of his full trunk and wondering how all of this was going to fit in his car. The conveyer belt had emerged again, carrying only Alexis's second bag and three large pieces of luggage Fritz recognized from Willie Rae's trips to LA. As if on cue, he and Brenda lunged at the luggage and managed to get all three on the ground in a matter of seconds. It was like collaring a suspect.

"Good lord Brenda, what did you bring back, gold bars?"

"That would be nice for our retirement fund."

Fritz looked around. "I'm going to go get one of those luggage carts. Be right back." He dipped down and kissed her, and he rubbed her arm. He couldn't stand how pathetic he was, but he didn't even want to be away from Brenda for a second. She had been back to him for hardly any time at all, not nearly long enough to be permanent. He feared that if he blinked, she would be gone again.

He returned a few minutes later, pushing an unwieldy metal cart with a stuck wheel. Brenda was chatting with Lily and Alexis, cradling the roses in her right arm like a baby, looking more animated and happy then she had for a long time. She had gotten so ground down with month after month of the lawsuits and Goldman's relentless attack on her; she was so threadbare by the time the cascade of other events had begun, starting with her father's cancer diagnosis, that he had seriously wondered if he would ever see her smile again. And yet here she was, making small talk with complete strangers, something she hated to do.

He stood watching her until she noticed him and held out her hand. He dragged the cart over to her, and the two of them began to load the five large pieces of luggage in such a way that a bump or an uneven elevator floor wouldn't make everything fall off. When they were satisfied that Brenda's heavy bags would stay put en route to the car, they stood up and caught their breath. Lily and Alexis were a little ways away, Alexis with her hand wrapped around her grandmother's arm and whispering in her ear. Lily nodded as she reached into her purse, grabbed a slip of paper, wrote down a few words, and handed it to Alexis. Alexis hugged her grandmother and walked over to Fritz and Brenda. Lily followed closely behind.

"Please don't think that we are strangers who don't have any boundaries," Lily began, before Alexis could say anything. "But Brenda, Alexis is quite taken with you, and I've really enjoyed getting to know you a bit, Fritz. and-"

"We were hoping you would come to dinner," Alexis cut in, rolling her eyes. "Sorry, Gigi, but why do old people take forever to say anything?" She looked at Brenda. "Look, I'm not stupid, and I know why my grandmother doesn't want to seem like a pain in the butt. You just got back from being apart and you and your husband are going to want some sexy time," she nodded at Fritz. Lily put her hands over her face and muttered, "dear lord." Alexis continued, nonplussed. "But when you come up for air, we would love to have your over. Gigi is the best cook in the world, and I only get two weeks in LA. I'd love to get to see you again." She said this to Brenda, but then turned to Fritz. "And you too, I'd like to get to know you, I mean. Brenda went on and on about what a great guy you are. And besides, as an FBI agent, you must have some good stories too."

Fritz took the piece of paper from Alexis with Lily's contact information, and he and Brenda promised to call to set up dinner. After their goodbyes, Fritz steered the reluctant luggage cart toward the nearest elevator that would take them to the parking garage.

As soon as the elevator doors were closed, Fritz grabbed Brenda and pulled her close. She laughed as he kissed her, trying to say, "security cameras" as he captured her lips. He was just getting into the kiss, warming up his mouth and hers, when they reached their floor. Reluctantly he released and turned to wrestle with the luggage. Brenda smacked him on the ass and complained that he had bent one of the roses.

"I have no idea how I am going to get this all in the car," he grumbled at his load.

She heard him. "What do you mean? We have the trunk and the back seat for the bags. There's plenty of room." Suddenly she stopped as they walked down the corridor that led to the parking garage, and Fritz didn't notice for several seconds. The momentum of the luggage cart carried him further, so Brenda was a ways behind him. He left the luggage and jogged back to her, wondering why she was standing stock-still as people buzzed around her.

"Honey, what's wrong?" he asked warily. There was a stiffness to her back he didn't like.

"Uh, nothing. Hey, what time is it?" She had that dazed look back in her eyes, but this time he didn't think he put it there. She looked at her watch. "Oh, it's a quarter to five. Do you think we can go have an early dinner before we go ho- back to the duplex?" Brenda looked at Fritz hopefully.

Fritz knew what this was about. Brenda was dreading returning to their apartment. She had had a hard enough time going back to live there after her mother had died, but after Stroh had attacked her there, her discomfort increased exponentially. She told Fritz it made her skin crawl to go into the kitchen, and every time she went into the bathroom, all she could see was the screen removed, and the fear of what that meant the night Stroh broke in came back to her. Now here she was, home from a long trip, and she didn't have a home she loved to go to. _ I can't make the demons go away_, he thought, _but I can put them off for another night_.

"Well," he said, taking her hand and leading her to the luggage to so it wasn't unattended, "it just so happens that we aren't going home. I have a big surprise for you." He leaned on the luggage cart and watched her carefully. This would be fun. Brenda loved surprises.

"Really?" All melancholy was gone. "Oh tell me Fritz, why aren't we goin' home? Where are you takin' me? Somewhere good for dinner? I gotta change. I can't go out like this. Flyin' makes me feel dirty..." her voice rose an octave in her excitement.

"Hush woman, will you be quiet and let me tell you what I have planned? The least I get for planning all of this is the pleasure of announcing it dramatically."

"I'm hushin' now," Brenda said. "Announce away, cuz I'm all ears."

Fritz rested his hand on his chest and cleared his throat. He was glad no one else was around to see him act so ridiculous. He was entertaining Brenda, and that was all that mattered. "In honor of the auspicious occasion of the return of my beautiful wife to Los Angeles," he began in a pompous voice, "I have booked us a room at the Beverly Wiltshire for the evening."

Brenda's face lit up. "Fritz, Fritz, that's great! That is supposed to be real nice! Oh thank you!" She clapped her hands together.

He held out a finger to silence her. "That is not all. We have reservations at the upscale restaurant Cut in the hotel at 8:30 for a romantic dinner for two. And tomorrow we will have brunch at Scarpetta's before spending the day doing whatever you like." He finished with a half-bow.

He got the reaction he wanted. "I can't believe you planned all this!" She lunged and kissed him on the cheek. "I am so excited to stay at such a nice place. But honey, we have to go home so I can pick out a nice dress." She sounded sad. "I don't have anything in all those bags I can wear out to a fancy restaurant."

Fritz started to move toward the car, eager to get to the hotel and settle in, amongst other things. "Brenda, Brenda, Brenda. When are you going to learn I'm a planner? I have everything you need in the car, sweetheart."

"Everythin'?" she sounded dubious. "Honey, you can' possibly have packed everythin' I need,I-"

"Brenda, I have been watching you get dressed to go out for seven years. I picked out a nice dress-"

"-which one?" she interrupted, clearly not convinced.

"The black one with those real thin straps. You know, the one that shows off your cleavage." Brenda started to open her mouth and Fritz began to speak before she could. "You get cold when you wear it sometimes, so I packed the sheer shawl-like thing you wear over your shoulders. And I know you have to wear a strapless bra with a dress like that, so I brought a black one with the sexiest underwear I could find that matches. And you like thigh-high stockings if you wear them at all."

She looked impressed. "Shoes?"

I chose the black ones that kinda look like sandals but have really high heels with the little diamonds on them that you like."

Brenda sniffed. "They're called '_strappies_.' Not my first choice but they'll do. What else?"

Fritz knew she was teasing him, and he was going to give her no room for ribbing. "For jewelry, I brought the four necklaces and matching earrings I see you wear the most when we go out. Personally, I think the platinum choker with the matching dangly earrings look best with the dress."

She seemed to be at a loss for words.

"You have a few black purses, but I chose the one with silver sequins, because you use that one the most," he went on, enjoying himself. "I packed essentially your entire makeup drawer, and if I forgot anything, there is a salon in the hotel that sells makeup. They also sell hair goo, but I brought about every bottle of that, too."

Brenda was wracking her brain for something. "Perfume?" she practically shouted in triumph.

"One bottle of Opium packed away. Plus I brought the shower gel and lotion I get you for Christmas that you save for special occasions. Because I plan to make tonight a very special occasion." He looked suggestively at her.

"Only if you brought my razor."

He sighed. "And shaving gel. And toothbrush, brush, curling iron, an outfit for tomorrow. You can keep quizzing me, Johnson, or since the car's right over there, you can help me unload so we can get to the hotel faster."

Brenda playfully shoved Fritz aside, placed the roses on top of the luggage cart, and pushed it the last 100 yards to their car. Fritz followed behind and unlocked the doors for her.

"Eager to get going, I see." He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck. She relaxed against his body, and he couldn't help but drag his hands from her hips up toward her breasts.

She twisted around and pressed her body against his, grabbing his wandering hands in hers. She whispered in his ear, "Now you save that for later, mister. I don't want any of your sexual energy wasted in airport parking lots, do you hear me? Save it for our 'sexy time.'" She kissed him lightly, and Fritz knew that her control was about as tenuous as his.

"Baby, I have enough sexual energy to light up this city, I've missed you so bad. And it's all yours."

"So take me to this expensive hotel and prove it."

* * *

The lobby was lush, all dark colors and highly polished brass, and solicitous staff were ready to wait on Brenda and Fritz. "I could get used to this," smiled Brenda, as the bellhop took their luggage.

"They probably think we're staying for a week," Fritz said, nodding at the large suitcase and suit bag he had packed.

Brenda snaked her arm through his and pulled him along behind the bellhop as he led them to their room.

The room was large but not overly so, with a king-sized bed. What was special about it, however, was that it overlooked Rodeo Drive. Fritz had paid extra for this. He hadn't wanted to pay the ransom for a suite, so a room with a view of LA's shopping mecca seemed perfect.

The bellhop opened the curtains with a flourish, and Brenda rushed over to the windows. "Fritz, this is perfect! I know I don't normally like shoppin', but would you believe I've only been on Rodeo Drive once, and that was with Mama? Try buyin' an expensive splurge with her makin' a fuss at all the price tags. Now I know what I want to do tomorrow after brunch!" She swung around and looked at Fritz, who was leaning against the wall, watching her, enjoying her enthusiasm. Again, it had been so long since he had seen this lighthearted side of her that he just wanted to soak it in.

"Speakin' of clothes, let me check out your packin' job." She grabbed the garment bag and hung it up in the closet. "Oh, my dress isn't wrinkled at all!" she exclaimed as she unzipped the bag and pulled it out. "And neither is your suit, honey. Oh, this dress must be for brunch tomorrow. I like this one, it will be perfect!" She gave him a big smile. She gestured towards the overstuffed suitcase, and Fritz set it on the suitcase stand. Brenda turned away from the closet and trotted over to it. "Okay, I'm doin' an inventory here, I don't wanna have to go and buy deodorant on Rodeo Drive...oh here it is, oh my, you really did pack all my makeup, didn't you? And you used my jewelry roll, good boy...stockings, hair serum, curling iron...hey what's this?" She held a bag. Fritz snatched it from her hands, but not before she saw the label.

"La Perla? Did a little lingerie shoppin' for me, huh?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Maybe."

"Do I get to see it?" She held out her hand, and he pulled the bag closer to him.

"Not until after dinner."

She stuck out her lower lip in the perfect pout. "You mean I don't get to get my hands on you until after dinner? That's almost three hours away!"

He looked at her, in all her Brenda glory, one step away from stamping her foot in frustration, and he felt just a little bit more in love with her. The loneliness of the past month came back to him, a ghost of something that was gone now but still left an echo, a taint in the air, and he felt like it would take months of being with her to fully recover.

She noticed the change in his demeanor. "Honey, what's wrong? Fritzy? You look upset."

The concern in her voice almost did him in. He turned away and looked at the window, not wanting her to see his vulnerability, after she had spent a month needing him to be strong for her. "I think," he started brokenly, "that if you were going back to Major Crimes a week from now, after being away for a month, I would lose it." Fritz tried to concentrate on the clouds outside to distract himself from his own darkness, but his eyes were drawn back to her beautiful face as if by magic. She looked at him, her brow with the little crease she wore when she didn't understand something. "I missed you so much," he choked out. "I missed you so much it was physical. Going so long without you was the biggest challenge to my sobriety I've ever had."

"Oh honey," Brenda said, looking sad.

"What I mean to say is I need you so much, Brenda. I just need you in my life so much. And we've done a ton of talking when you were in Atlanta, and you've told me things you've never told me before. It makes me eager to get to know you all over again. And if you were going back to your old job, when you worked constantly, didn't come home some nights, and didn't return my calls, it would be like I got a taste of something amazing that then it got snatched away from me. I don't think I could take that, getting that close to you and then you pulling away. It would be too much, too much..." His throat closed and he scrunched up his eyes, wondering when he had become so emotional.

Brenda had her arms around him in seconds. "But I'm not goin' back there, Fritz, I'm not," she said soothingly, stroking his cheeks and pulling him close. He returned to his favorite place, his face buried in her hair. "I'm startin' somethin' new, without bullets or dead bodies or spendin' Christmas at work." She guided his head upwards so he was forced to look at her. "If there is one thing I have learned from watchin' Daddy this past month is that nothin' in the entire world is more important than your spouse. He told me time and again he'd give everythin' he ever had for just one more minute with Mama." Her voice cracked. "Lord knows I've wasted enough time negelectin' you, and I'm done with that. I'm here, honey, and I'm not goin' anywhere. I promise." She caressed the sides of his face with her thumbs. "So what do you say," she whispered, lowering her hands to his chest and unbuttoning his shirt, "that we stop wastin' time _right now_?"

* * *

He stayed in the afterglow for what felt like a long time, his brain clouded by pleasure and release. _If there is a heaven this must be what it is like_. A complete lightness of self, floating, no body, no worries, just bliss and perfection.

Eventually, though, the mist cleared and he realized he was lying in a bed at the Beverly Wiltshire next to a naked Brenda. _Hey, this is still pretty damn close to heaven_, he thought, smiling. With what little energy he had left, he rolled over to embrace Brenda. He could hear her breathing, but her body wasn't touching his. Damn king bed.

Brenda was curled on her side, facing away from him, so he scooted behind to spoon her. As soon has his arm draped over her waist, though, he could tell from the tremble in her shoulders that she was crying.

"Honey, what's wrong?" No answer. "Brenda, what's the matter? Look at me." He tried to roll her toward him, but she resisted. Finally he managed to get her on her back, and he leaned over her and stroked her hair. Brenda looked away at the opposite wall.

"You know, it's kind of bad for a guy's ego when the woman he just made love with starts to cry," Fritz said. "I guess I shouldn't bother to ask, 'what it good for you?'"

At that, Brenda smiled and turned to face him. She had tears streaming down her face, and she haphazardly tried to wipe them away with the sheet. "You know it was good for me."

Fritz put his hand on her stomach and gently rubbed. "So what is it? Really, I'm worried. I felt like I just walked on the moon and here you are crying."

"Oh Fritz." She managed a watery smile and reached out to touch his cheek. "I was in outer space along with you. That was just amazin.' Somethin' just happened when I finished. It's like, well, I don't know how to describe it, but it felt like a big bag of sadness in me burst or somethin.' And I just started sobbin.' But it's not the bad kind of cryin', it's the good kind, you know what I mean?"

Fritz moved closer to her and kissed her neck. "Catharsis," he said. "You just had a big release of emotions. It happened one other time before."

Brenda closed her eyes in a gesture Fritz knew meant she was faced with a memory she didn't wish to revisit. _After watching Charlie's new friend Jake Burrell die, and having to pretend to be_ _his mother in his final moments, Brenda then had to arrest his killer and come back home to face Charlie's grief. Fritz held a sobbing Charlie and tried to drag Brenda into his arms, but she had wound herself so tight, had bound her emotions into such impossible knots that she wasn't going to risk anyone untying them, lest she fly to pieces. After awhile he calmed Charlie down and got her back into bed. Brenda had escaped to the shower, but Fritz sat in the bedroom and waited for her. When she came out of the bathroom he was persistent; he knew she wasn't going to talk to_ _him about what happened, so getting her to make love was his only chance of human contact, assuring himself that she hadn't slipped past the point of no return, her heart frozen in the "closed" position forever. Growing tired of fending him off, Brenda finally turned around and pulled off her towel. "You want to have sex?" she hissed. "Fine, we'll have sex. But we do it my way." And her way was to grab, to bite, to dominate, to leave no room for tenderness or love. He had never seen her so feral. When he finally tipped her over the edge and then followed, she collapsed on his sweaty and red, scratch-lined chest. She was breathing heavily, and then her breath started hitching, but it took the first_ _hot tear to hit his_ _skin before he realized she was crying. She went limp and allowed him to hold her tight as sobs wracked her tiny frame. She stayed like that for 30 minutes, and slowly the sobs turned to crying, and crying to sniffling, and then silence. He then realized she had fallen sound asleep, most likely her physical and emotional reserves utterly exhausted. He pulled the covers up and he held her tightly as she slept, and when she woke two hours later, she was still reluctant to talk, but over strong coffee and scrambled eggs, Brenda haltingly told him what happened. And his heart ached for the young man…and for her._

Brenda opened her damp eyes and looked at Fritz. "Oh honey, it' okay. I think all that missin' you and the sadness that came with it just kinda poured outta me." She rolled on her side so he was facing him. "Cuz I gotta say, Fritz, that was so much better than my memory, and my memory of makin' love to you is pretty darn good."

He smiled, rubbing small circles on her shoulder. "I have that same problem. Every time we have sex it's so much better than I recall."

"Glad to hear-" she interrupted herself by yawning loudly. "Sorry," she said. "I had to get up real early to get to the airport, and I was up late last night packin'." She snuggled down into her pillow. "How long until dinner?"

"Two hours," he said, closing his eyes. She turned her back to him and he pulled her tight, an old, familiar position. She felt so good in his arms. "Plenty of time for a nap and getting ready."

"Mmmmmph. You gonna be here when I wake up, Fritz?"

"Brenda, there's no place else I'd rather be."

**END CHAP 2**

**Please review. Thanks!**

11


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes: **Sorry for the very long delay between chapters. A month ago I badly sprained two fingers on my right hand and couldn't type for about 3 weeks. I nearly went crazy (and if you were ever curious, voice recognition software works like crap). Also, this chapter is extremely long. I didn't want to break it down into two chapters, because it all takes place in about 18 hours. However, there are many flashbacks-flashbacks within flashbacks, even.**  
**

Many thanks to Kate Rosen for editing this monstrosity for me, which was no easy feat. **  
**

**There is also an M-rated version of this story on **. You don't need to read both. Except for the sexy time, they are identical**.**

**Enjoy!  
**

**CHAPTER 3**

"Time?"

Fritz glanced down at his watch. "If you want a drink at the hotel bar before dinner, you have twelve minutes before we need to leave." He returned to the Sports Pages.

"I'm almost done, just finishin' up my hair." Brenda's voice had an echo-like quality coming from the bathroom.

"I'm sure you look great," he said.

He heard an impatient noise from her and knew it was directed at him. "You can't even see me, Fritz! You have no idea what I look like. You lose credibility when you give the 'I'm sure you look great' speech, you know that?"

He shook his head, amused. "And do you know that we have this exchange every time you're getting ready to go out?"

The clank of what he assumed was her curling iron on the marble sink was followed by, "and do you know how turned on it makes me to bicker like an old married couple?" He could hear the smile in her voice.

Five minutes later, she yelled, "time?"

He tossed the paper on the small table next to the stuffed chair he was sitting on, giving up on reading it. "Brenda, didn't I get you a nice watch last Christmas?"

Her voice was saccharine-sweet with sarcasm. "Why, yes you did, sweetheart, and I thank you again for such a generous gift. But I'm not wearin' it right now, and besides, I always thought you liked bein' the official timekeeper of our social life."

"'Like' is too strong a word," he grumbled under his breath, not annoyed in the least. It felt wonderful to be engaging in their old banter again, playing their respective roles in their silly faux arguments. _ It's good to be us again_, he thought, with a contented sigh.

"You have seven minutes if you want…"

"…to get a drink in the bar before dinner," she finished. "I got that part the first ten times, Fritz."

Fritz picked up the comics and flipped through them listlessly for the next couple of minutes until the sounds in the bathroom were replaced by the muted thumps of high heels on carpet. He got a whiff of Brenda's perfume just as he looked up to find her standing in front of him.

"So how do I look?" Brenda asked, twirling around.

He didn't have the words. _Beautiful_ and _stunning_ wouldn't do; they were too banal. _Elegant_ and _exquisite _were closer, but he knew they would sound distant and pretentious coming out of his mouth. _ Sexy_ was certainly a step in the right direction, but it barely scratched the descriptive surface.

Brenda was dressed in the black dress Fritz had brought her, a simple silk sheath with spaghetti straps with a deep V neckline that was cut to hug her curves in a way reminiscent of a 1940's gown. It ended right at Brenda's knee, and Fritz saw she chose to go without hose, her fair skin a stark creamy white against the black. She had on the heels he had brought her, and he noticed her new running program made her legs even more shapely. He scanned upwards, and he appreciated the generous eyeful of bust the dress afforded him. She was wearing a simple platinum and diamond choker and matching earrings he had gotten her two Christmases and anniversary's ago, respectively. And oh, her face—_I have dreamt of that face for an entire month_—was done to perfection. She had her "evening" makeup on, applied with a heavier hand, with crimson lips and smoky eyes. Her long hair had been tamed a bit with a curling iron so it lay in ringlets, only a small amount on the top pulled back into a black rhinestone barrette that was clipped low on her skull. She had a sequin purse in one hand and a shawl folded over the opposite arm, and she looked at him with amusement as he slowly perused her body.

His mouth hanging open like a fish, only one syllable fell from it: "_wow_."

She tilted her head back and laughed. "I spend all that time fussin' and tryin' to look good for you, seein' that you arranged this nice dinner and a romantic evening in a fancy hotel and all, and what I get from you is 'wow?' Fritzy, you really have lost your credibility!"

He stood up and grabbed her quickly, palming her butt and making her gasp. He placed his lips on her supersensitive spot on her neck and kissed her, hot and slow, and her shrieks of protests quickly morphed to moans. He pulled back and noted with satisfaction that Brenda looked, with pupils dilated and breathing rapidly, for lack of a better word, gobsmacked.

"Sometimes, Brenda, you leave me speechless," he said, low and husky. "And this is one of those times. I can't tell you how incredible you look, I can only show you." He bent down to kiss her but she turned her head, and he got her cheek instead. She took a step back from him and held out an arm to keep his distance.

"Fritz, honey, any more _non-verbal_ complements and we won't make it downstairs for dinner. I'll desperately be dialing room service at 2AM naked and starvin' when we finally come up for air."

His mouth grew dry at the thought. "I don't really see a problem with that."

She slipped out of his arms. "I do. I'm all gussied up for a fancy dinner, and that's what I want, mister. So get me out of this room before I rip your clothes off." She turned and walked toward the door. As she walked through the threshold, she looked over her shoulder. "You might not know this, but I want a drink in the bar before dinner."

* * *

"The usual?" Fritz said, as they sat down at the patio bar. Brenda was looking around at all the elegantly dressed men and women, heading to a late Friday night dinner like they were. The deep gold of the fading California sun cast an aura around her blonde head, and Fritz thought she looked like an angel.

"Hmmm. I'm feelin' like somethin' a little stronger tonight." She picked up the drink menu and looked at it.

"Are you sick of me already?"

She smiled. "No, no, a martini just sounds good is all. I'll have wine with dinner."

"You are going to be an expensive date."

She leaned over the table and whispered, "don't worry, I put out."

A handsome waiter, most likely an aspiring actor, approached the table. Fritz ordered a Diet Coke and Brenda ordered a Cosmo.

"How very 'Sex in the City' of you, Brenda."

Brenda was about to retort when her phone rang. She frowned and reached for her purse.

"Sorry," she mumbled, and Fritz had an unpleasant sense of déjà vu, to all the dinners ruined by phone calls that tore her away from their evening plans. _It's not Major Crimes,_ he told himself, feeling anxious_. She doesn't work there anymore._

Brenda finally freed her phone from the confines of her small clutch. "Oh crap! Sorry Fritz, it's Daddy, I forgot to—hi Daddy! Yes, I'm in LA…yea, I know I said I'd call when I landed but…" her expression darkened, and Fritz could hear Clay yelling at Brenda from all the way across the table. He listened in to snippets of the conversation, annoyed that Clay was not only interrupting their evening together, but was berating the daughter who just spent a month taking care of him.

"Daddy, you know I didn't mean to worry you…I am not inconsiderate! Of course you're important Daddy…well for heaven's sake, what do you think I was doin,' I haven't seen my husband in a month…phone calls don't count…" Brenda huffed and crossed her arms, throwing herself against the back of her chair in annoyance. Fritz caught her eye and she glowered.

After another minute, she cut him off. In a loud voice, she said, "Daddy, use your head! You were married for 50 years! I was havin' sex, that's what! I've been away from Fritz for a month and we were too busy havin' sex to think about much else. And that includes callin' you to let you know I arrived safely."

Several tables around them stopped talking and turned to stare at them. Their waiter, about ten feet away, froze in mid-route, then slowly approached them with their drinks, as if he were afraid of what Brenda might do next. Fritz felt his cheeks grow red.

"…maybe next time you will think before you start hollerin,'" she said. "I do not appreciate bein' talked to that way." Brief pause, where he assumed Clay said he was sorry. "Apology accepted. Now Fritz and I are out for a romantic dinner, and I have to go. And don't be callin' me later on, because I fully suspect we will be havin' sex then too." And without saying goodbye, she hung up and put her phone back in her purse.

When she looked at him, she seemed puzzled by the expression on his face. "What?" she said innocently.

"Brenda, did you have to announce to the entire bar that we were making love this afternoon? And what in the world possessed you to tell your father?" he whispered to her harshly. Fritz looked around and saw people were still tossing curious glances their way.

She shrugged. "He was rantin' and ravin' cuz I forgot to call him when I got into LAX like I promised," she said. "And wouldn't let me get a word in edgewise. I had to say somethin' to shut him up. And tellin' him exactly what I was doin' that distracted me from givin' him a ring did the trick." She smirked and picked up her drink, taking a small sip. "Oh that's good," she said, setting it down again

She leaned close to Fritz and put her small hand on his. "And as far as the patrons of this fine establishment overhearin' me, Fritz," she said, running her thumb over his, "you know I can't help that. I have a problem with bein' loud." She pulled back and picked up her Cosmo, sitting back and looking as Hollywood as they come with her sexy black dress and long blonde hair, relaxing next to Rodeo Drive enjoying a cocktail on a summer evening.

And Fritz couldn't wait until dinner was over to get her to really make some noise.

* * *

Like most men, Fritz Howard appreciated a good steak. That's one reason why he chose the upscale steakhouse, Cut, for their romantic dinner out: steaks for him, desserts for Brenda. And it was located in the hotel, so they didn't have to go very far. Fritz was all about proximity to their room. He would prefer that they hole themselves up in that nice room for about a week and never put a stich of clothing on, ordering room service to fuel themselves for marathon rounds of sex. But he prided himself on being a gentlemen, and he wanted Brenda to know that he didn't just miss her body, he missed the whole package, so he wanted something nice to do with clothes on. She deserved a romantic evening out her first night back, and besides, a little anticipation always made the sex better.

It took more self-control than he thought he possessed to crawl out of bed post-nap after they had made love that afternoon. Brenda was still asleep, lying on her stomach, her hair splayed over her back and pillow in messy curls. He leaned down and kissed the back of her neck and she shifted, but didn't wake. He wanted to keep going, to wake her and make love to her again, but the time showing on the bedside clock gave him pause. He wasn't going to ruin their dinner plans because he couldn't keep his hands to off of her, and if he didn't get into the shower now, he knew he wouldn't be able to resist temptation. Somehow he forced himself out of bed and into the bathroom, promising himself that the evening was just starting.

Fritz was grateful for his self-control, because the food at Cut was delicious. Brenda dug in with great enthusiasm. She admitted, after getting rather buzzed on one martini at the bar, that she had barely eaten all day, so she hardily enjoyed an appetizer, salad, filet mignon with all the trimmings, and was now practically orgasmic over a plate of profiteroles. Fritz smiled at her rapture: if he didn't make her look even happier in bed, he would be intensely jealous of her dessert.

"So what do you want to do tomorrow?" he asked, taking a bite of his coffee cheesecake. Delicious.

Brenda reluctantly dragged her attention away from her dessert to look at him. She held up a finger as she took a bite of the Italian specialty. She closed her eyes and chewed, her small tongue flicking out to catch a small bit of errant chocolate on her upper lip. _Damn she is sexy_, he thought, his body reacting to her erotic display. When she swallowed she opened her eyes, , and answered.

"Well, I can't help but want to look around at the shops a bit here," she said.

"No problem."

She took another bite with equal adoration. "And after that, I was hopin' we could go look at the house." She raised an eyebrow at Fritz.

He put down his fork. Oh no. The Reckoning.

"Oh. I thought we weren't going to do that until Sunday." _Just give me one more day, _he pleaded to no one in particular.

"I know, I know, but I'm eager to see it. I thought you could call the owner and see if we could swing by tomorrow instead."

He felt his stomach tighten. "Well, you see, Brenda, I wanted some time to go over the house with you before you saw it, so you would know what to expect, you know, because it's not perfect—"

"Oh Fritz, for heaven' sake!" Brenda said, irritated. "I appreciate that this was incredibly nerve-wrackin' for you, buyin' a house without me seein' it, and I know you had to do a ton of work to have me co-sign the Purchase and Sales long distance, what with the overnight deliveries to Atlanta and notaries for all those documents I had to put my name on and whatnot. And I totally understand you're scared I'm gonna hate it. But honey, you have told me over and over what the flaws are. Not to mention the dozen of pictures you have taken of each room, which you e-mailed to me with detailed explanations. On top of all that, you took a video of the house, goin' room by room, narratin' the whole thing, pointin' out the paint colorin' here, the outdated appliance there. It was like a National Geographic special."

Okay, it was a little overkill. But buying a house for the biggest control freak he had ever met, and hoping she would like it, was a very tall order. And he wanted, _he really, really wanted_, to make her happy. She deserved happy. He was terrified she wouldn't like it, that the house would be just one more disappointment wrapping up a year's worth of misery. His anxiety increased with each step closer they came to owning the house—offer, acceptance, P&S, inspection…and it crowded out what he knew in his heart: the house was perfect.

"Fritzy?" Brenda's voice pulled him out of his obsessive cycle. "You were a thousand miles away. You were worryin' about the house again, weren't you? Afraid that I won't like it?" Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, the way it got when she felt bad about something but wasn't exactly sure what.

"Yea, I am, and I know I'm being a little crazy about this. I just want to do this right, Brenda. I want to give you a house you love. You deserve that, you really do. And if you don't like this place, if I've screwed up—"

She slapped her hand down on the table, making him jump. "Oh just stop, will you? I'm tired of your perseveratin'. If there is somethin' I don't like about this house, you know what? It's my own damn fault, cuz I wasn't here to pick it out. And honestly Fritz, how picky am I about where I live? I'm serious when I say as long as you and Joel are there, and a lot of horrible memories aren't, I'm good with it. I like everythin' I saw on the video and the pictures you sent me. I finally get to have my own bathroom, which I plan to paint pink, by the way. Havin' a pool is gonna be fun. It seems just what I want." She reluctantly put her fork down, gave her profiteroles a longing glance, and placed both of her hands on Fritz's. "I appreciate all your hard work with this, Fritz, I really do. I love you for it. I have no doubt that any place we buy, we, especially you, can make it into a home."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Okay, you win." He glanced down at his watch. "Let me call the owner before it gets any later and see if we can go over tomorrow afternoon." He reached into his jacket pocket and felt for his phone. Satisfied, he stood up and turned toward the restaurant door, planning on stepping out to make his call in private.

He started to walk away and then, with a sly grin on his face, turned around slowly. As he had predicted, Brenda's fork was hovering over his cheesecake, going in for an unauthorized bite. "Johnson!" he whispered harshly. She jerked her arm back to her side of the table and pretended to be innocently eating her own dessert. Fritz couldn't help but smirk.

"Keep your hands away from my dessert, Brenda," he said sternly, biting back a laugh. Brenda affected her best "who, me?" expression and resumed working on her profiteroles, but he knew she was just waiting until he was out of sight before she tried to steal some of his dessert again.

"Take one bite out of that cheesecake and I'm calling in an SID team to dust for fingerprints," he warned. "And measure for bitemarks."

She looked up at him, eyes wide. "And if you want my fingerprints, and my mouth, all over _you_, I suggest you make your call and stop harassin' me." She tilted her chin and gave him her patent "take that!" look.

She played dirty. He was speechless. He hurried away from her, hoping her influence would be weakened by distance so he could call the owner with a steady voice.

...

Fritz stood in the hotel lobby outside the restaurant and sagged against the wall, cell phone in hand, glad to be out of Brenda's line of sight. The current owner of the house, Eric Spetman, had no problem with them coming by tomorrow afternoon. He rubbed a hand over his face, taking deep, calming breaths. _I've become wired for tragedy_, he thought. _I'm starting to expect the worse. And I'm not going to live like this._ He stood up straight, put his phone away, and walked back into the restaurant to finish up dessert with his wife, forcing the cobwebs of worry and self-doubt into a shadowy corner of his mind.

* * *

Brenda had begged him to look for a house when she was in Atlanta, swearing she didn't care what it looked like, as long as it wasn't the duplex. She didn't want to wait and look together when she got back, prolonging the time they had to live in a place that held so many horrible memories. Fritz, too, wanted to move; every time he walked into the kitchen, he pictured Stroh on top of Brenda, and a cold drop of ice water ran down his back. This constant reminder of how close he came to losing her, and the rage he felt, was not good for his mental health or his sobriety. Still, picking out a house for a control freak was a very scary prospect. So although he had promised Brenda before she left that he would do his best to find them a house, he intended only to get an idea what was available on the market, so as soon as she returned they could look in earnest.

That all changed the day the landlord stopped by.

It was the Saturday after Brenda had left. Mr. Boorstein, a small, greasy man in a torn, misbuttoned flannel shirt, took one look at Joel and crinkled his nose in distaste, then turned his attention to Fritz.

"I stopped by to let you know I'm not renewing your lease," he said in a low, gravelly voice.

Fritz was stunned. "What? What do you mean, you aren't going to renew…"

Mr. Boorstein cut him off. "Listen Mr. Howard, let me be clear. I want you and your wife outta here. Look at all the crap that's gone on in this apartment recently! First they're hauling out dead bodies, then some guy breaks in and your wife makes Swiss cheese outa him. And the hell that cleaning service the cops recommended got everything cleaned up like LAPD promised. I saw a spot of blood behind the fridge when I was here the other day. Blood don't ever come out!"

Fritz was deeply offended by Mr. Boorstein referring to Willie Rae's death as "hauling out dead bodies," like she was some anonymous victim of a Mob hit. "My wife almost got murdered," he said, low but deadly.

"That ain't gonna help get the blood out faster," he retorted. "I shoulda never let you two have a cat." He inserted an unlit cigarette into his mouth with nicotine-stained fingers.

Fritz wanted to shake the guy, at once confused at his illogical leap between allowing a cat in the apartment and Stroh's attack, and furious they were getting kicked out for events beyond their control.

"Wait, the lease expires in…hey, that only give us two months to find a new place to live!"

The landlord had turned back and was already opening the front door. "The lease says I gotta give you 60 days' notice, so you better get busy," he said, and left.

Fritz never told Brenda about essentially being evicted. She didn't need to learn about one more person in her life screwing her over.

When he talked to her that night, he got serious about finding out exactly what she was looking for in a house. "I keep tellin' you Fritzy, I don't really care all that much, as long as it has two bathrooms. I don't really have 'the perfect house' pictured in my head. As long as you and Joel are there, and the commute isn't too bad, I'll be happy."

She was lying through her teeth, because Fritz was sure she had an ideal house in her head: her old bungalow, with a couple extra bedrooms thrown in. And, of course, a second bathroom.

Brenda cried the day they moved out of her place on Edgemere. He found her, after the movers had left, standing in the middle of their empty bedroom, fingering the glass teardrops dripping from the chandelier, her hand over her mouth. He stood in the doorway for a minute before she noticed him. It spoke to how upset she was that she didn't bother to try and hide her wet cheeks.

"I love this house," she said softly. "It know it's tacky and too small, but I love it here."

"And you'll love our next house too. We will make it our own and you'll love it as much as this place, I know you will." He walked over and touched her arm. She flinched and moved away.

"We aren't movin' to a house, Fritz. We are goin' to an apartment. I don't even know when I'm gonna get to have a house again." She sniffed and the tears started fresh.

"Soon, I promise," he said soothingly, hating to see her upset. "Soon, honey."

_Soon._ That was over four years ago. They moved into the duplex, and initially Brenda refused to unpack her boxes, saying there was no point if they were just going to move again. But he couldn't drag her out to open houses because she was always too busy, so over time and out of necessity, the boxes slowly emptied. Then he couldn't get her to seriously house hunt because every time he brought it up, she rolled her eyes and said, "Fritzy, for heaven's sake, I just unpacked!" And he would hear her mumble under her breath, "it's not like we're ever gonna find a place as great as my bungalow anyway."

He never should have made them move. Brenda had suggested, more than once, that they see if her bungalow could be renovated; the attic space turned into a second floor, perhaps, and maybe another room added to the first. Fritz refused to consider the idea, citing the cost and chaos that comes with renovation. But the real reason couldn't be shared with her. If they stayed they would forever live in _her_ house, not _theirs_. Brenda had a hard enough time merging with him; he already often felt like he was hanging onto the periphery of her life, he didn't want to feel like he was just living as a guest in her house, too.

Brenda's grumbles about the boring colors of the duplex, the out- of-date appliances in the kitchen…she never stopped missing her little bungalow, her crime-scene real estate bargain.

He promised her, on that moving day years ago, he would get her a house she loved as much as her bungalow. And after the visit from their idiot landlord, he redoubled his efforts, spending every extra minute with his real estate agent Margaret, looking at ads online, and going to open houses on Sundays. Although he appreciated the distraction from missing Brenda that the searching offered, he was growing increasingly frustrated at his inability to find "the one."

Two weeks after Brenda had left, Fritz was in the break room of the LAPD talking on his phone with Margaret, who told him that the owner of a house he had toured the day before and was mildly interested in had already accepted an offer. When he asked if she had anything else to show him, Margaret told him no, but that she would call him the second an appropriate listing appeared.

Fritz hung up and let loose with a string of obscenities, resisting the urge to throw his cell at the vending machines in frustration.

"Oh, excuse me," he heard a feminine voice behind him.

Sharon Raydor was standing in the corner, a crumpled bill in her hand.

"I didn't mean to bother you, Agent Howard," she said. "I just snuck in here for an afternoon sugar fix. I have to say, I miss your wife's chocolate drawer. If she was in a good mood, she'd share."

"Well, you probably were a little deprived then," he said riley.

Sharon selected a candy bar, helped herself to a cup of coffee, and gestured to the table Fritz was sitting at. She pulled out the chair and said, "I hope you don't think I'm being nosy, but I couldn't help but overhear. You and the Chief are looking for a house?"

"Well, right now, it's just me looking for a house. Brenda wants me to try and find a house before she comes back. After the year she's had, I really want to do this for her, but I'm failing miserably." He rubbed his eyes in frustration.

"Well, I may be able to help. You remember where I live, of course?"

He nodded.

"Well, I was out jogging the other morning, and I was a couple of blocks from my house, and I saw this young guy putting up a "For Sale By Owner" sign in front of his house."

"Really?" Fritz was interested. Sharon's neighborhood was a quiet, well-kept, middle class one, a little farther away from work than he would like, but at this point, that seemed like a small sacrifice.

"Yes. Judging by the size, I'd say it's your typical three-bedroom bungalow. On a corner lot, too!" She took a sip of her coffee. " And I think it has a pool."

She had him at hello. It was Fritz's deep, dark desire: he wanted a pool. He really, _really_ wanted a pool. He downplayed it when he talked to Brenda, and getting a house that made Brenda happy was more important, but…

Damn, he really wanted a pool.

He had this vision of coming home after work, tearing off his suit, and putting on swim trunks. While heating up the grill, he would take long, slow laps in the pool, the day and all its frustrations washing away from him. Brenda would come home, at a normal hour from her normal job, and slip into a bathing suit to join him. The type of suit depended on how amorous he was feeling at the moment. If he was eager to get to the part in his fantasy where he cooked thick, juicy steaks he ate rare, Brenda wore a one piece, low-cut maillot. Most of the time though, his libido being what it was, Brenda put on a tiny black bikini. Sometimes it was red. She pulled her hair high on top of her head so it wouldn't get wet, and swam breast stroke across the pool. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close to him, and she would smile adoringly at him, her body feather light in his arms from the water's buoyancy in the pool, and she would wrap her legs around his and kiss him. And the top to her suit was easy, so easy to remove and soon it lay in a soggy heap next to the grill as he palmed her floating breasts, grateful for the privacy fence in their backyard…

He put the mental breaks on before he embarrassed himself. _ I'll finish that fantasy later on when I'm alone_, he thought. Out loud he said, "yea, a pool, a pool would be good."

…...

Fritz received a text from Captain Raydor the next morning asking him to stop by her office at his leisure. As he approached, he could hear Provenza's raised voice through the cracked door.

"I don't give a flying crap what Taylor wants, or what you want, for that matter," Provenza growled, his face red. He was leaning over Raydor, who was sitting calmly behind her desk. It was strange for Fritz to see not his wife, but her ex-nemesis, in the large Major Crimes office.

Provenza continued on his tirade. "I'm sick to death of this 'let's make a deal' bull the DA's are shoving down our throats. I'll tell you something, Captain Raydor, if Brenda Johnson was still sitting where you are sitting, none of this would be happening, and this asshole would be on his way to prison." Provenza stood up from his menacing position, as if he had just delivered a death blow and now could leave gracefully.

Fritz realized that he had stopped by at a bad time. The last thing Captain Raydor probably wanted to see right now was the husband of the impossibly high standard she was trying to live up to. He turned to go, assuming that the intensity of the argument assured he would not be spotted. He was wrong.

"Agent Howard," came a familiar voice, "please, come in."

He was amazed how calm her voice was, and her face looked as placid as her tone. She clearly was not going to let any of Provenza's cruel comments get to her.

"You're in the middle of something," Fritz answered, preferring to leave the tense environment as soon as possible.

"Oh no," Sharon answered lightly. "The Lieutenant was just leaving." Her dulcet tone was frost-covered as she glared at Provenza.

Provenza grabbed a stack of papers and snarled at Raydor, "we're not done yet".

"Oh, but we're done for now!" Raydor said in an almost light tone, which only served to irritate Provenza more. He was mumbling to himself as he angrily stormed out of the office, bumping into Fritz as he pushed through the door. Not surprisingly, Provenza didn't apologize.

Fritz turned towards Captain Raydor. "I'm really sorry if I interrupted anything, Captain."

"What, oh, that? That is pretty much a daily occurrence around here, nothing to worry about."

Fritz remembered Brenda's first year on the job, when she was abused by the squad with encouragement from Taylor and little support from Pope, and how it tore her up more than she would ever admit. He wanted to reach out and give Sharon some encouragement, but she must have sensed this, because she launched onto a completely different topic than the woes of Major Crimes.

"I wanted you to stop by, because I did some detective work on the house I was telling you about yesterday. I have what I think is good news. I was coming back from jogging this morning, and I saw the young man who owns the place, the one I saw putting up 'the for sale by owner' sign in his front yard." She paused briefly. "Well, I had to circle the block a few times, because I figured hey, he had to leave for work eventually, and after all, I needed to burn off that candy bar."

Fritz started to open up his mouth to thank her, and she waved him off.

"I introduced myself as his neighbor and told him I had a friend who was house hunting, and you would have thought I told him he had won the lottery," Sharon said. "I barely got the words out of my mouth before he started telling me his life story. And it's all good for you, Fritz, because if you like this house, I think you can get a decent price for it. This guy is really eager to sell."

"How come? That always makes me a little nervous to hear."

Sharon shook her head. "No no, it's not haunted or infested with rats or anything like that. This is the story Eric—that's the owner's name, Eric Spetman—told me. He bought the house over a year ago with his girlfriend Beth, and about six months after moving there, Beth got offered her dream job in New York City, in Publishing I think. Eric had just bought a ring and was on the verge of proposing, so he wasn't about to break up, so he told her to take the job because his financial firm had an office in New York, and he would ask for a transfer. He's originally from the east coast so he doesn't mind too much. She left for New York, and he stayed behind to sell the house and put in for a transfer, and was told, to his utter surprise, that on no uncertain terms does he have the seniority to ask for a position in the New York office." Sharon stopped and rubbed her chin. "Why he didn't check on this thoroughly before he sent his girlfriend off to New York I don't know. Anyways, for the past year he's been on one coast and she's been on the other, and he's been scrambling to get another job so he can join her. And finally, he just got offered a position on Wall Street, and needs to start the job in a month. He's beside himself that he finally gets to be with his girlfriend and get engaged, so he is dying to sell that house and move on. His drama could mean your real estate bargain."

Drama indeed. He couldn't believe no-nonsense Sharon stood and listened to this guy tell her all this personal information when all Fritz needed was an asking price and a contact number.

"Did he say anything about the house, or was he too busy telling you about his honeymoon plans?"

Sharon smirked. "He did tend to go on a bit. He offered to give me a tour, but by the time he finished with his story, we were both late for work. He said it's a three bedroom, two bathroom bungalow. Well, I worked out the bungalow part for myself. Eric wanted to let you know that his girlfriend was just getting ready to do some major interior design when she moved to New York, so he said it could probably use some TLC. When a guy says that, I imagine it's decorated with beer posters."

"Hey!" Fritz said.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a folded-up piece of paper. "Here is a flier with all the specs. One other thing he said was, and I quote, 'the kitchen looks like my grandparents'.' Just to warn you. But hey, at least it has a pool."

He took the paper from Sharon's outstretched hand and unfolded it. "Ahh, a pool," he said, mostly to himself, the fantasy of Brenda in her black bikini running through his head like a loop of film. The film was instantly cut short when he saw the asking price under a photo in bold letters.

It was completely reasonable. Completely, utterly, reasonable. Well within their range reasonable. So reasonable that if they needed to rip out that granny kitchen and renovate it with, say, a granite and cherry one like the one from Brenda's old house, they could do it. Or even add an additional room. Perhaps, oh, a man cave.

He squinted at the picture on the flier. It looked like a typical California bungalow, brown, with a small porch. He looked at the specs. 1800 square feet. He would like a bigger house than that, but in LA County, no one except rich folk had bigger houses than that. Three bedrooms, 1.75 bathrooms, that means…no tub for him. He shrugged. As long as Brenda had one, that's all that mattered. It all looked good, very, very good. Better than anything he had come across so far. And he knew that if he didn't act fast, it wouldn't be around for long, even in this sluggish economy.

He tuned Sharon back in. "…a sin to let a garden go to seed like that! I could tell someone, the previous owners obviously, put in a beautiful garden, and this guy Eric hasn't done anything to keep it up. All that work going to waste. Agent Howard, does Brenda like to garden? If she doesn't I can teach her, I mean, if you like the house and buy it…"

Fritz chuckled. "She's fighting with her mother's flower beds in Atlanta as we speak. She has no idea what she's doing and no patience for it, but she promised her father she would tend her mother's garden. When I get these phone calls that start out with 30 seconds of swearing in a heavy southern accent and nothing else, I know she's been out fighting with the tulips."

"That's too bad," Sharon said. "Gardening can be so relaxing."

"Not when you want to yell at the flowers 'grow, dammit' and expect them to follow your orders!"

When they stopped laughing, Fritz spoke. "Sharon, thank you for all this. Totally above and beyond the call of duty, really. You spent a good chunk of your morning doing detective work for me, and I really appreciate it."

She waived her hand dismissively. "Hey, it gave Provenza the pleasure of busting my chops for walking into work late," she said. "And besides," the usual seriousness returning to her voice, settling in like a second skin, "the Chief has had one of the worst years I have ever seen anyone experience in their life. And now that I have her job, I have a very deep appreciation for the unbelievable pressure she was under for seven years. If I can do anything to make her life, and yours, the smallest bit easier, then I want to help. This—" she gestured toward the flier—" was 15 minutes out of my morning. A small thing to do to help out a friend."

Fritz looked gratefully at her. "You have been a good friend, Sharon, to both Brenda and me. So stop calling me 'Agent Howard' and Brenda 'Chief' unless it's in front of the guys, okay? Once you've seen someone at their worse, formalities should just be tossed aside."

…...

_**3 weeks earlier**_

_**Washington, DC**_

_Fritz spent most of the evening pacing his DC hotel room and obsessing. He had been at Quantico all day in the Behavioral Science division, working with a Profiler and pouring over everything Brenda had on Philip Stroh. The Profiler thought that Stroh had all the hallmark signs of a highly organized sociopath who could rape and murder women under the nose of the LAPD and use his superior intelligence to evade detection. He gave Fritz copious amounts of information about the best approach to catching Stroh before he killed again, and Fritz was somewhat comforted that he wasn't on a fool's errand. But when Brenda didn't return his phone calls he became angry, and the doubt he had over her sanity, and her ability to see any rape and not imagine Stroh the perp, came back with a vengeance. If he wasted precious Bureau resources flying to DC and consulting with experts on the word of his wife, who even Fritz had to admit was a little shaky in the mental health department lately, it would gravely hurt his career. After hours of pacing and several doses of antacid, he finally fell into a restless sleep._

_His cell phone rang at 3AM, startling him so badly he almost fell out of bed. He blindly felt around the bedside table, knocking off his keys and gun in the process. Who the hell was calling in the middle of the night? He was too foggy to realize it was just midnight California time._

_"What!" he barked into the phone, reaching over to pick up his gun without turning on the light. He hadn't bothered to see who the caller was when he answered._

_"Agent Howard," came a woman's voice, alto-deep and deliberate._

_"Captain Raydor?" He rubbed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to collapse back on the bed and into unconsciousness. "Look, if there's been an officer-involved incident, I can't help right now. I'm in DC." He knew he sounded impatient, but damn, he was tired._

_"Well," she started. "There was, but that's neither here nor there. I'm calling about the Chief."_

_He was instantly awake, like someone had jabbed him with a pin. "Brenda? Is she okay? Did something happen?"_

_"First, let me just say, Agent Howard, your wife is completely fine."_

_The sick tendrils of panic were sprouting in his stomach clawing their way upwards. He tasted bile on the back of his throat. Something happened. _

_"What! What is going on? You're scaring me." His chest tightened and there seemed to be a shortage of oxygen in the room._

_He heard the woman on the other end of the line inhale deeply. "Tonight, Phillip Stroh broke into your house."_

_He could taste the fear on the back of his tongue, metallic and cold. It almost blocked the words that pushed their way out of his mouth. "What the hell—oh my god—is Brenda—did he… But you said she's okay, you said…" He knew he was babbling, but he couldn't stop himself. Brenda's worst fear had just come true, her recurring nightmare, the one that she would wake up from shaking and crying, really happened. His breathing grew rapid and he gripped the phone so strongly in his sweaty hand that it began to slip. I can't believe this is happening. Did Brenda think the same thing?_

_"Agent Howard, Fritz, I'm going to ask that you let me talk for a couple of minutes and explain the situation. I know this is tough news to hear long distance. That's why I assured you that the Chief is fine before I said anything else. But please let me finish, alright?"_

_"Sorry," he mumbled._

_"Understandable. What happened tonight was this. Brenda—Chief Johnson—had brought the witness from Griffith Park, that street kid, Rusty Beck, to your house to spend the night. She was trying to convince him to identify Stroh as the man the kid saw burying the young woman's body."_

_Fritz made a mental note to tell Brenda not to bring home any more strays._

_"…broke in the apartment in his signature way, by cutting through the bathroom screen. He took the boy hostage and stabbed him in the leg. Rusty was able to get Stroh off of him, and then Stroh went for Brenda."_

_"Oh god," Fritz breathed, "did he, did he rape her?" He could barely spit the word out._

_The thought of that monster touching his wife made rage flow through every cell in his body. He was sure he was breathing fire._

_"No, no! Stroh got her to the ground but somehow the Chief beat him off of her and grabbed her purse. And then she fired three rounds into him without ever taking the gun out of that bag of hers." Fritz distinctively heard a note of awe in her voice._

_Fritz sagged in relief. "Oh, thank god. I'm glad that bastard is dead, or I would have to go and kill him myself."_

_"How very…Neanderthal of you, Agent Howard. But Stroh didn't die, and I have to ask you to refrain from murdering him. Although you are in good company in wanting to do so, believe me."_

_Fritz got up and began pacing again. "How is she really, Captain? And please don't just say 'fine.' She can't be fine. And why isn't she calling me?" This last point worried him the most. If everything was okay, why didn't Brenda call him right after shooting Stroh?_

_"It's been chaos. She called her squad right after she called 911, and Flynn called me on the way over to her apartment. So in addition to the usual three-ring circus present at a shooting, there was Major Crimes and FID. Her squad showed their concern for their Chief by ranting and raving about how much they wish she had blown Stoh's head off instead of hitting him in the chest. On top of that, Rusty took breaks from giving the EMTs a hard time and yelled over the din to Brenda, going between showing solidarity and telling others to leave her alone one minute and giving her crap about not killing Stroh the next. And in the middle of all this was the Chief, just sitting at your kitchen table, quieter than I've ever seen her. I got her to give a statement for both the LAPD and FID, but she was, and still is, in shock. I have her at the hospital right now. The EMTs were concerned she might have cracked a rib or two when Stroh threw her to the ground, so with a lot of persuasion, and threatening to tell you she wasn't cooperative with following medical orders, I finally got her to the ER. She's in Radiology as we speak. This is the first quiet minute I've had in the past three hours."_

_Fritz stopped his anxious walking and sat down heavily on the bed. Why did bad things always seem to happen to her lately? He wished he was there to take Brenda in his arms and just hold her. _I should have been there_, he told himself. _This wouldn't have happened if I had been there_._

_Raydor cleared her throat. "I'm going to tell you something else, Agent Howard, and Chief Johnson may be angry with me, but honestly, I think she will secretly be glad she doesn't have to be the one to do it. And this will also give you an idea of her state of mind even before the shooting tonight."_

_Does this woman ever get to the point? "Go on."_

_"The Chief was put on paid administrative leave today pending an excessive force investigation."_

_His head suddenly felt thick, like it was stuffed with cotton. "Wait a second, did you say she was put on leave before she shot Stroh? I don't understand."_

_"Chief Johnson physically attacked Phillip Stroh on the elevator when he was at Parker Center for questioning."_

_He was floored. He knew Brenda was fragile, the stress causing small cracks in her usual iron veneer, but this… she was losing it. "You have got to be kidding me," he whispered, mostly to himself._

_"Oh, I wish I were, Agent Howard," Captain Raydor replied. "She bloodied him up pretty good, too. I guess there's some question as to whether she attacked him because he provoked her by saying something about her mother's death, or if that was an excuse to get some of his DNA, I don't know. Regardless, she's in a lot of trouble. And then, he tries to kill her. Honestly, although what he did should cancel out her actions, I can't say for sure it will."_

_"I can't think about that now," he said, a low strumming starting behind his temple, fueled by sleep deprivation, adrenaline, and unfathomable worry for Brenda. _I should have been there_, the Greek chorus sung in his guilty conscious. "I just need to focus on getting home to Brenda."_

_"That's why I called," Raydor said. "I realize it's the middle of the night on the east coast. But you will want to start talking to the airlines about getting the earliest possible flight home tomo—oh, I mean today. Now, unfortunately, your home is going to be a crime scene for awhile. Major Crimes and FID have to share it for at least two days."_

_"Shit," Fritz said._

_"Don't worry, I'm taking Brenda home with me. And I insist you stay there too when you come in to town." Fritz started to protest but Sharon just talked over him. "There's no need to stay in an impersonal hotel, especially when the Chief isn't going to be working during the day. And_ _Lord knows I won't be in your hair. I doubt I'll be leaving the office for the next two weeks, so you will have my place virtually to yourselves."_

_Fritz made a noise, grateful for the offer, but unsure how Brenda would feel in such close proximity to the woman who used to drive her crazy. Sharon again shut him down. "Besides, Agent Howard, I dropped Joel off there already on the way to the hospital. You can't have him in a hotel room, and don't you think the Chief is going to want her cat?"_

_He knew when he was beat._

_..._

_Fritz got a 6:40am flight back to LA, which landed at noon. With the layover and time change,_ _the entire trip was eight hours long, but it felt like 800. He never went back to sleep after Sharon's call, and his eyes were thick with grit, each blink feeling like a pass of sandpaper over hyper-sensitive red tissue. He had hoped the exhaustion might lead to sleep on one or both legs of the trip, but the anxiety over what happened to Brenda kept Morpheus at bay. He was irritable, jumpy, impatient with his fellow flyers, and felt that if he had one more tidbit of bad news, even it if was that they were out of his favorite ginger ale on the plane, he would blow a gasket and end up cuffed to an air marshal. He resisted the temptation to call Brenda's cell during his layover, remembering that it was three hours earlier in California, and she would be asleep. He called Raydor instead, who's whispered "hello" and the sound of Will Pope barking out orders in the background let him know he had called at a bad time. She quickly reassured him that Brenda was safe at her home and was being watched over by Sergeant Gabriel, who would stay with Brenda until he arrived._

_Captain Raydor had texted Fritz her address, and he made it there from LAX in record time, fully prepared to flash his FBI badge if pulled over for speeding. He recognized the unmarked Crown Vic parked outside the modern apartment building as_ _LAPD standard issue, and he assumed it was Sergeant Gabriel's. An older Toyota Camry was parked right behind it, and Fritz doubted it belonged to Sharon Raydor. He grabbed his overnight bag and jogged to the front door, feeling like he had traveled from the other side of the world to get here. Had it really been early this morning that the Captain had called with the news? It felt like days ago to him. The creeping, unwanted, clinging guilt swam past him and stung, like a jellyfish in the ocean: you should have been there. He tried to shake it off, knowing this wasn't the time to focus on his feelings, but on Brenda's._

_Gabriel came to the door only after Fritz had knocked twice. He had his suit jacket off and was holding a muffin in his hand. He looked way too happy and relaxed for the circumstances. Fritz glowered at him._

_"Agent Howard, come in," Gabriel said, looking a little started at Fritz's open hostility. "We were just—a—" he trailed off as Fritz walked into the living room, clearly not listening._

_"Where's Brenda? Where is she?" he asked brusquely. He was in no mood for politeness._

_Gabriel shut the door and walked up to him. Before he could open his mouth, a young woman with long dark hair in torn jeans and a faded tee-shirt emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate of muffins. She looked at Fritz and at first appeared startled at his expression, but then smiled kindly and extended her free hand._

_"Mr…um, Howard, is it? I'm Megan, Sharon's daughter. I'm so sorry about everything that happened." She grabbed Fritz's hand and squeezed it, releasing it quickly. "Brenda is asleep in_ _the guest room." She pointed her thumb toward the back of the condo. "I guess my mom gave her a couple of her sleeping pills last night, or more like early this morning, and she's really zonked out."_

_"Yea, she woke up around ten," Gabriel said, "right before Megan got here, and came out and told me she was going to take a shower and she'd be right back. Then Megan arrived, and we got to talking, and the Chief, well, she never did come back out from the bedroom. I sent Megan in to check on her." He look at Megan to continue the story._

_"She was in what I think were a pair of my mom's sweats, and her hair was wet, so I think she made it to the shower, but she was curled up on the bed, fast asleep," Megan said. "David and I have tried to be quiet so we wouldn't disturb her. And we knew you would be here around one, and you would probably want her to wake up then."_

_Fritz ran a tired hand over his face, and his stomach growled. Megan giggled. "It sounds to me like you might be a little hungry, Mr. Howard. I have these muffins and I'm making lunch. Why don't you eat before you wake up your wife?"_

_Fritz realized he hadn't eaten anything the entire day, not counting the coffee he had at the DC airport at 6am. He looked toward the direction Megan had indicated Brenda was, and he wanted to run in there right now and take her in her arms, sleep be damned. Megan seemed to read his thoughts. "She had a rough night, my mom said," Megan said softly. "And I think you had a rough morning getting here. So why don't you let her sleep and you sit down and eat, and you will both be in better shape to see each other?" He looked at her earnest young face and saw the wisdom in what she was saying. He nodded, set his bag down, and walked to the breakfast nook, nearly collapsing in one of the chairs. _

_"Do you live here?" he said._

_"Oh no" she answered. "I'm a junior at UCLA. Mom called me and told me what happened last night, told me that you and Chief Johnson would be staying here a few days, and David would be hanging around today, so she asked me to come over and do some cooking to make sure everyone was fed properly."_

_"That's nice of you."_

_Megan shrugged and placed the plate of muffins in front of Fritz. He hungrily grabbed at one and took a bite. "I live in an apartment with four other girls. I like cooking, and it's nice to come over to Mom's and get my domestic on. I usually spend one weekend a month here doing this same thing, cooking meals for Mom and freezing them. If I didn't, she would live on Lean Cuisines!" She disappeared into the kitchen._

_Gabriel sat down next to Fritz. His hunger, and anxiety, slightly abated, he turned to the younger man, who he knew was going through his own hell. "Listen, I'm sorry I was rude. I am just so worried about Brenda, and that was the longest damn flight I've ever taken in my life."_

_"You weren't rude at all, Agent Howard, and believe me, we are all very worried about her, so you're in good company." David rubbed his wrinkled forehead and his eyes drifted in the direction of the back bedroom._

_"Tell me what's up," Fritz said. "Raydor said she was in shock last night. How is she, really?"_

_Gabriel took a drink of what Fritz presumed was coffee. "I gotta say, Agent Howard, your wife is one tough woman. She beat the crap out of that bastard and then shot him three times without ever getting her gun out of her purse."_

_"I know all this," he said impatiently. "But afterwards, how was she?"_

_"Shock is probably the right word for it. I saw her after that asshole almost raped her several years ago, when the senator's daughter was murdered. This was worse, much much worse. She was like a machine. She repeated the facts of what happened in a flat voice, no emotion at all._ _And then she just stared straight in front of her, her eyes all glazed over. I'd go and talk to her and I'd have to shake her to get her to respond, and the second I'd touch her, she'd jump out of her skin. And she would answer me in this monotone, and then go back to staring at nothing." Gabriel shook his head slowly. "It was like the Chief had left the building."_

_Megan returned with plates for Fritz and Gabriel heaped with a large chicken salad sandwich on focaccia bread and a mixed green salad. "Dig in," she said. "Mr. Howard, I've put lunch on a tray for you to bring to Brenda, er, I mean Chief Johnson, after you finish, if you want to. I figure she might want to eat in the bedroom, privately with you. I still have a couple more hours' worth of cooking to do, and she is probably not in the mood to meet strangers."_

_"Thank you, Megan," Fritz said. "And please, call me Fritz, and call Brenda, well, Brenda. You and your mother have been very kind to both of us, and we appreciate it."_

_After he finished his sandwich, he felt a little more awake and alive. He took the tray Megan had prepared and walked toward the guest bedroom. Balancing it in one hand, he slowly turned the doorknob and opened the door_.

_Brenda was indeed asleep on top of the covers, looking young and very small in a pair of oversized sweatpants and a blue UCLA tee-shirt, and Joel was curled up next to her. Her bare feet showed off the pedicure with hot pink polish she had gotten the day before her mother died. She was lying on her back, with her right arm tossed over her head, and her left curled up with her hand balled up into a fist and tucked under her chin. Her hair was still wet, some of it clinging to her face. There were bruises on the inside of her right arm in the shape of fingers, and he noticed a swollen area on the left side of her face. Anger roiled within him._

_He had been so busy studying and cataloging her injuries that he didn't notice Brenda's eyes had flown open. "Fritzy? That you?" she croaked, as if her voice was rusty from disuse. _

_He looked around quickly and saw a dresser where he quickly placed the tray on his way over to the bed. Brenda rose up as soon as Fritz sat down on the edge, and she grabbed him in a death grip,_ _her small hands clawing at his suit jacket as if trying to pull him into herself._

_"Fritz, Fritz, Fritz," she said over and over again, like a mantra. Her voice cracked but he didn't hear any tears. He heard pain, but no tears._

_His voice, however, had frozen in his throat. He hadn't allowed himself, until this very second, to really think about what could have happened. If his mind had wandered too close to that thought, that truth, he yanked it back like a dog on a leash. She could have been murdered. She could have been killed. She could be dead now. It was there, he was upon it, the thought he had been skirting around since that 3AM phone call._

_And then it was Fritz who was in tears._

_That's how Sharon Raydor found them, when she popped in during the middle of her chaotic day to make sure everything was alright, that they were comfortable and well-fed and all their needs were met. She found Fritz and Brenda, holding each other, falling apart. Fritz heard the door open behind him, then close, and a few minutes later, her distinct, low, nasal tone in the living room. Neither her daughter nor Gabriel ever mentioned her dropping by, nor did Raydor herself. But he smelled her perfume when he and Brenda left the bedroom an hour later, and he knew what he had heard. She had witnessed a very private moment, and had the class to pretend she hadn't . Fritz developed an intense respect for her that day, not to mention gratitude for all she did for him and Brenda after the shooting. She would never just be "that woman" again._

…...

Fritz double-checked the address and turned off his car. He was five minutes early to meet Eric, the owner of the house, for a tour, so he decided to case the joint. From his vantage point he could get a good view of the house and the property it sat on. The house itself was a typicalCalifornia bungalow, painted in a similar brown that Brenda's old place was, and sat on a corner lot, just as Sharon had said. The street consisted of like-sized houses, most likely built in the 1920's and 1930's if Fritz had to guess, and all were well-maintained with neatly kept lawns. Hoping to catch a glimpse of the pool, Fritz walked around toward the back of the property, but he was disappointed. Privacy must have been important to the previous owners, because a ten foot stockade fence surrounded the backyard. _Not very attractive, but good for removing Brenda's bikini top in private, _he thought.

He noted the desiccated flower beds that had horrified Sharon on either side of the porch as he walked up the front steps and knocked. A slight young man, around 30, with messy straw-blond hair and wire rimmed glasses answered the door. He saw Fritz and grinned.

"You must be Fritz Howard, right?" he asked.. He took Fritz's hand and shook it firmly. "I'm Eric Spetman, we spoke on the phone. And this is my house. Please come in!" He opened the door.

He offered Fritz a drink but he declined, anxious to get down to business. "We can talk specifics later," Eric said, bouncing on the balls of his bare feet. "For now, I'll take you room by room, and then you can stay as long as you want to, wander around and take a closer look at things. And please, let me know if you have any questions."

As Eric started the tour, he said, "Carly—that's my girlfriend— and I bought this house from an old couple who went into a nursing home. I don't think they did anything to it since the 70's, as you can probably tell. Well, except for the pool. The realtor told me their kids paid to have the pool updated, so the grandkids could come and use it. But as for the rest of the house, well, it really needs updating. Carly and I were just about to get started with painting and all that when she got her dream job in New York and left, and I'm not good at stuff like that, so I'm selling it the way I bought it. I haven't changed a thing. I thought I'd let the new owners fix it up any way they want." He shrugged and led Fritz to the living room.

_Or_, Fritz thought,_ you were too lazy to spend a few days painting the walls to spruce the place up._

The floor plan was completely open, the living room area a large rectangle with a large stone fireplace surrounded by built-in bookshelves on one side, and a dining area at the far end. There were numerous windows, giving the house an airy feel, although with Eric's sparse furniture, it appeared almost empty. On the other side of the wall were the three bedrooms and the two bathrooms. The master bedroom was spacious and had an equally large bathroom with a sizable tub, but it was in desperate need of new tile and a vanity. Fritz was thrilled to see that the master bedroom had double doors that led to the backyard, like in Brenda's old house. The two other bedrooms were small but decent sized for a guestroom and a study, and the second bathroom was also in need of updates.

Eric led him to the kitchen, which was at the far side of the house and separated from the open living area by a wall. Doing mental renovations, Fritz knocked the wall down and made a breakfast bar. "Brace yourself," Eric said. "The kitchen leaves a little to be desired." Fritz thought the kitchen at the duplex was outdated. But this…the walls were covered in mustard and avocado-colored teapot patterned wallpaper. All the appliances were in a matching shade of green. The linoleum floors were cream colored and badly stained, curled up and yellowed in the corners. The cabinets, at least, seemed okay, sturdy even, a honey colored wood with a country-hewn appearance. Not his taste, but at least they didn't look like they belonged in the Brady Bunch's kitchen.

"Oh," was all that Fritz could think to say.

"It doesn't look so great, but all the appliances work, even the dishwasher," Eric said. "And a contractor buddy of mine took a look at it when I was thinking of getting rid of this wall—" he patted the one that blocked the kitchen from the living space—"and he said it isn't weight-bearing, so it could easily be torn down, if you wanted to renovate."

"I don't think it has to do with 'want,'" Fritz said, looking around again. "I think renovating is kind of a necessity."

"It's not pretty, but it's functional," Eric said. "Let me show you the breakfast nook." He let Fritz to a small room off the kitchen with large windows and a built in china cabinet. A small desk and a computer were set up in it, along with an office chair and two filing cabinets.

"The realtor told me this was a 'breakfast room,' Eric shrugged. "I don't know why you couldn't eat your breakfast on the dining room table, but whatever. I think it makes a nice office."

Fritz thought it would make a lovely dining room, set off from the rest of the house. He could see himself pouring Brenda a glass of wine in this room, the claret of the Merlot amplified by the candlelight, casting a red glow on her skin…

"…and the pool is outside."

He was ripped from his fantasy. "Did you say 'pool?'"

"Yea man, I was asking you if you would like to go and see the pool now."

"Oh, _yes_."

Eric led Fritz out the back door and onto the porch. And when Fritz took a good look around, he felt something that he only felt one other time in his life, and that was when he had first kissed Brenda.

He felt like he was going to pass out from his own overwhelming excitement.

The porch area was large, paved in flagstone, and covered with an overhang that narrowed and extended the length of the house. Eric had several pieces of comfortable -looking, stuffed deck furniture in a semi-circle, in addition to a round glass table and six chairs. There was a new-looking gas grill off to the side. And then there was the pool. It was large, not one of these perfunctory kidney shaped pools, but a square pool of considerable length. It was surrounded by wilted tropical bushes that abutted the privacy fence. The pool and porch took up the entire backyard, but what a backyard it was! It was big enough to comfortably accommodate a healthy group of people invited over for a cookout and a swimming party. Fritz's head spun at the possibilities.

"Nice, huh?" Eric said. "Best part of the house. "I might not have been so much into the painting and interior decorating thing, but I have taken very good care of this pool. I've had it professionally maintained and have a pool service clean it each week. Since Carly's been gone, I've been pretty lonely, so I have all my buddies over every weekend, and we hang out here all day. It's awesome."

It was very, very awesome.

"I'll think I'll take you up on your offer to wander around a bit, if you don't mind," Fritz said.

Eric nodded. "Oh yea, since I can't take any of this patio furniture with me to New York, and none of my buddies have pools, I will leave it here for a couple hundred bucks if you'd like." And with that, he told Fritz to come find him in his makeshift study when he was done.

Fritz sat down on one of the chaise lounges and looked at the inviting aqua -blue of the pool. _I think I have finally figured it out_, he thought.

_I can't give Brenda back her bungalow. I won't ever find a house that's a duplicate, or with a kitchen that amazing. But I can find a house that we can make into a home that is similar_ _to the old bungalow_. And similar enough, he realized, was just fine.

This house wasn't perfect. The floors needed to be rescinded and finished. Every room had to be repainted. The fixtures in the bathroom had to be replaced. And the kitchen…_oh, don't even get me started_.

_But the floors could be sanded before they even move in. Painting can be done on the weekends, and in a couple of months every room in the house will be a different shade. I can buy a new vanity at Home Depot and call a plumber to install it, no problem. I can put up tile. And maybe in a year, when the dust had settled, we will rip that kitchen out and put in a new one. It's all doable_.

He stood up and walked into the house, pulling out his iPhone to take pictures to send to Brenda. He and Brenda would talk tonight, but he had a feeling he would be talking to his realtor tomorrow about making an offer. Something in his bones just told him this was the place for them.

* * *

"Ugh, I am stuffed," Brenda said, holding her stomach. "I shouldn't have eaten all my dessert. I wasn't hungry, but it was just so good!"

Fritz put his hand on her lower back and guided her out of the restaurant. "My cheesecake was good, too, wasn't it?" He poked her in the ribs playfully.

"I wouldn't know," she said, straight-faced, as they walked across the lobby.

"Uh huh," Fritz said. "My cheesecake just magically shrunk by about 20 percent when I was outside talking to Eric Spetman."

Brenda stopped walking and turned to him, looking offended. "Are you accusin' me of eatin' a whole one-fifth of your cheesecake, Fritz? On top of the profiteroles? And without askin'?"

"Yes," he answered, and took her by the hand, tugging her toward the elevator.

"One bite does not equal 20 percent," she huffed.

Fritz pushed the Up button. "It was two bites, minimum. And a minute ago, you hadn't taken any. Chose a story and stick with it." He saw her cheeks turn pink.

"Fine. I'll cop to two bites. But I didn't eat nearly as much as you claim." She crossed her arms and stuck out her lower lip. "Take that back."

The elevator came and he pulled her on it. An elderly couple was already on board, so his plan to kiss away her pout lip was ruined. Instead, he leaned in closely and whispered, "Honey, my dessert is your dessert. In fact, I think that was in the wedding vows."

"Well if it wasn't," she whispered back, "it should have been."

Fritz put his arm around her and pulled her toward him. He was feeling better than he had in a month. The anxiety he had felt earlier about the impending house visit had had been overtaken by immense contentment—they had napped, they were well-fed, full of expensive steak and rich sweets, and now they had the rest of the night to get reacquainted. The sex they had had that afternoon was just an appetizer, a warm-up to the main act, and it was show time. Check-out wasn't until 10AM, and their breakfast reservations weren't until 11, so he planned to keep Brenda up very, very late enacting all the fantasies they had spun for each other during late night phone sex during their separation. Well, maybe not all of them, not tonight, there was tomorrow morning, and tomorrow evening and…_time_. There was time. But for right now, all he wanted was to be alone with Brenda with no interruptions so he could revisit every nook and cranny of her beautiful body.

Brenda got the card key from her purse, opened the door, and grabbed Fritz's tie. Smiling, she led him into the room and pulled him into her arms as soon as the door swung shut. Neither one of them had flipped on the switch, so the only light in the room was the ambient glow that spilled in from the part of the windows not covered by curtains. She tipped back her head as she regarded him in that way of hers, and Fritz admired how the shadows turned her lovely face into a chiaroscuro of her delicate features. The effect became even more striking when she stood on her toes and slowly placed her lips against his, art in motion. He lowered his arms to their favorite position, wrapped around her lower back, as she pressed against him with more intensity, and, with the tip of her tongue, outlined his lips. His body responded with the speed and intensity of a 16-year-old. He tried to deepen the kiss, but Brenda pulled back.

He opened his eyes reluctantly and looked at her, puzzled.

"Well?" she said.

"Well what?" he asked, exasperated.

"My present is what!" she said. "You got me something at La Perla, I saw the bag earlier, remember? When are you gonna give it to me? I don't think it's a ski parka, so now would be the opportune time." She looked at him expectantly.

The lingerie. Of course. He had been wandering the streets a week ago coming back from picking up lunch when he had passed a lingerie store. Desperately lonely and sexually frustrated, he decided to stop in and pick up something for Brenda. It wasn't a good idea. Imagining Brenda in the skimpy, sexy bits of lace and silk for sale, combined with a saleswoman who was flirting up a storm with him, meant we was becoming increasingly excited the longer he was in La Perla. Finally, he pointed to the chemise that caught his attention from the sidewalk and asked for it in Brenda's size, desperate to get out of the store before he embarrassed himself.

He turned on a light, walked over to the suitcase and pulled out a white bag and handed it to Brenda, who grabbed it eagerly. She loved presents, big or small. And she liked lingerie, and for that Fritz was sure there was a god. Her perfect figure wrapped in a silky, sexy nighty or babydoll set simply drove him wild. A lacy bra or sexy panties glimpsed briefly in the morning while she dressed was fodder for a day's worth of fantasies.

"No peeking," he said, when she peered into the bag. "Go into the bathroom and try it on. And then come and model it for me. But Brenda, just to let you know, it's, uh, , _more revealing_ than other things I've bought you. You have to consider my mood when I went shopping."

"Hard up?" She bit her lower lip.

"Pretty much," he admitted.

"Give me five minutes," she said, heading toward the bathroom. "Unless, of course, it's too skimpy and I'm embarrassed to be seen in it."

"Oh yes, you are the modest one," he said. "How many times have we had sex in a car?"

" If you ever want to do that again, you will shut up." And with that, she closed the door.

Fritz sat down in an armchair to wait. He fished some breath mints out of his pocket and popped one in, worried that he was headed into a major make-out session without brushing his teeth. He pulled out his iPhone and checked Words with Friends, and upon seeing that he had six notifications that it was his turn, focused his attention to coming up the highest scoring words he could.

_I have…what? A,A, I, I, I, U. and O? What the hell am I supposed to do with that?_ Jerry was already beating him by 30 points, and he had won the last game. Jerry was a gloater, and if he beat Fritz twice in a row, Fritz would hear about it. He frowned, deciding to tackle taking his turn with the all-you-can-eat vowel buffet later on.

He was trying to find a double or triple letter space to put his "J" in his game with Charlie when he heard the bathroom door open and close, but he was too focused on the task at hand to remember why that bathroom door opening was so important. Fritz had just scored 33 points for "Jut" when Brenda cleared her throat. Fritz looked up at an irritated Brenda, who had her arms crossed over her chest.

"I've been standin' here forever, all dolled up like a hooker, while you've been playin' Scrabble on your phone!" she huffed. "I am more than happy to go put on my cat PJ's if you wanna play computer games tonight."

"No, Brenda, I'm in this game with Charlie, and I got the letter J, and, _oh my god_." His iPhone fell out of his slack hands. She had uncrossed her arms and he got a good look at her.

And he thought the negligée was sexy on the hanger.

He went with black, since her sexy wardrobe was dominated by pink and red lace. The babydoll chemise had a satin bra, which was, of course, built to showcase the breasts encased in them, with two thin panels of lace falling away from it cut in a C shape, like a window curtain pulled back with a tie, so Brenda's flat stomach was visible. The lace ended right where a matching G-string began, Thigh-high silk stockings with a single black seam running up the back completed the ensemble. Fritz had purchased the outfit at an expensive lingerie shop, and what might have been a cheap, or even trashy, design at the hands of a place like Fredrick's was done with elegance and muted sensuality at La Perla.

Brenda waved a hand at herself. "You must have been in quite the mood when you went shoppin' for this," she said, and he detected a tint of anger in her voice.

He dragged his eyes from her thighs to her face. Her mouth was set in a straight line, and warning lights went off in his head.

"You look incredible, Brenda," he said, cautiously, unsure of what caused her change in mood. "Don't you like it? If you don't, honey, we can take it back and—"

She interrupted. "Oh _no_. I'd hate to make you take it back." She paused dramatically and placed a finger to her chin, as if deep in thought. "On second thought, you might want to go back to the store after all. Someone seems to be expectin' you."

He was confused. "I don't know—"

"There was somethin' in the bag for you," she said brusquely, and tossed a small piece of paper of his lap. At first he thought it was a tag, although he distinctly remembered asking the saleswoman to remove them so Brenda wouldn't see how much he paid for the lingerie. He picked it up and saw it was a business card. On the front it was simply a generic card for La Perla, but on the back there was a handwritten note: "Mr. Howard, call me, Katrina, 555-489-1768."

"Oh, crap."

"Yea, 'oh crap' is right," Brenda said, in her angry voice. "I take it Katrina is the woman who helped you pick this out for me?"

His mouth was dry. He had no idea who Katrina was, but it most likely was the flirty saleswoman who was helping him. He found it flattering; after all, she was about half his age and very pretty, and what man wouldn't get a charge out of that? But he said multiple times "I'm buying this for my wife" to make it clear that he wasn't in the market for anything but a bit of silk and lace. Apparently Katrina thought she could convince him otherwise.

"Brenda, I have no idea who this is. It probably was the woman from the store, but I didn't hit on her, I swear. You know I wouldn't do that to you." Her face grew redder, and he could feel the romantic evening of hot sex drifting out of his grasp and getting replaced by a stony bed seeped in Brenda's jealousy.

She just stood there, looking like Venus herself, dripping sex and fury. Fritz felt desperate to reach her before she pulled away, convicting him of a crime he didn't commit and leaving him to rot. He grabbed her hand. "Please Brenda, I have no idea who put that note in there. I didn't do anything wrong. Please don't ruin tonight, honey. We've been looking forward to this forever. _Please_." He wasn't above begging.

She glared at him, her eyes narrowed, and…she burst out laughing.

She put one hand on her stomach and bent over, and the other hand went over her mouth to try and subdue her giggles.

"Oh Fritz," she gasped out, "the look on your face, you looked just like a naughty little boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar." And with that, she lost control again, tears leaking down her eyes.

He was completely confused. One minute, she was ready to castrate him, and the next, she was in a fit of hysteria. He reached out and grabbed her upper arm. "What are you laughing at?" he said, both relieved and irritated.

She sniffed and took a couple calming breaths. "I found that card when I was puttin' on the nightie, and I knew you had nothin' to do with it, or you would never have left it in there for me to find," Brenda said. "I see how women look at you, Fritz. You're a handsome man. I have competition out there, I know. I also know you would never cheat on me." She reached out and stroked his cheek. "But I also know that women who work in lingerie stores are usually pretty hot, and I'm sure she did some flirtin' before she dropped her card into bag, so you had a little fun when you were shoppin', didn't you?" She gave him The Look, the one that made hardened serial killers tell her their deep dark secrets.

"I didn't flirt back," he said, sounding pathetic to his own ears.

"Sure you didn't, honey. But I figured you got to have your fun, so now I would have mine." She smiled her evil smile.

He shook his head. She was a piece of work. On the one hand, that was a mean practical joke, given the circumstances. On the other hand, the fact that she could joke about something like this—another woman coming on to him—showed how secure she had become in their relationship. A few years ago, such an occurrence would have led to suspicion and a jealous meltdown that would take him days to repair.

"What am I going to do with you?" he said, releasing her hand and resting it on her hip.

"Welll," she said, guffaws replaced by a teasing tone, "I thought we could play a game." She bent over and put her hands on the chair's arm and leaned in toward Fritz. He got an excellent view of her cleavage.

"Game?" he said, distracted.

"Yes." Brenda climbed onto his lap, straddling his thighs. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her close. "It's called 'The Naughty Salesgirl.'" Ignoring Fritz's deep chuckle, she reached down and nipped him on the ear.

"Oh, I think I like this game very much," he said. He reached out and ran a finger over the crest of her collarbone.

She smacked his hand away. "No touching, sir," she said in a high-pitched, girlish voice. "I'm just modeling the lingerie you want to buy for your wife." She widened her knees and brought herself closer to him. . "Do you like it?" she asked in her affected tone.

"Oh yes, very much," he breathed.

"I can tell," she giggled..

"I'm wondering," he said, blowing small puffs of air on her neck, "if you could possibly give me an idea of what effect this lingerie might have on my wife? I know what effect it will have on _me_,", "but I am hoping to buy something that will really turn my wife on too. Will this do the trick?" He looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, it will definitely have a very strong impact on your wife's libido," Brenda answered, again lowering her mouth toward his ear, her breath hot and moist. He felt her small tongue flick out and lick his neck. "And I will be more than happy to demonstrate." She slowly dragged her nose over his ear and cheek and then put her lips on his, slow and hot, a kiss full of the promise all the time in the world for…_everything_.

Fritz was eager for her tongue when she finally relented and opened her mouth, her groan echoing is, and then he was hungry for more, need begetting need. He slid his hands up her back and entangled them in her thick hair, holding her against him to ensure the continuation of the kiss, breathing be damned. Brenda was lazily stroking his chest and began to undo his tie. He moved to the straps of the chemise, lowering one and playing with it for a minute before stroking the soft skin underneath. Brenda pulled back and gasped for air, and in her normal voice, said, "how's the sale's pitch goin' so far, _Mr. Howard_?"

Fritz leaned into her and placed a kiss on her shoulder. "Sold," he said, before his before slowly kissing his way across her chest.

"Oh yea," she murmured, closing her eyes and sighing. "Another satisfied customer."

* * *

"I swear, Fritz, if my Daddy ever knew I spent $750 on a pair of shoes, he'd have a heart attack. Another one, that is." Brenda hugged her prize close to her chest as she waited for Fritz to unlock the car door.

"Well, it's a good thing he's not the one who just bought those for you, then," Fritz answered, sliding into the driver's seat and waited for Brenda to get in the car. When she did, he added, "besides, you have a couple of other pairs of Jimmy's Shoes."

"Jimmy _Choos_," Brenda corrected him. "Yes, I do. But I got them on sale, cuz the real small sizes are hard to sell. I never paid full price for them. You, Fritz, are a very bad influence on me."

Fritz thought how sexy Brenda's legs looked in the black and white polka dot high heels she had fallen in love with through the shoe store window on Rodeo Drive, and thought that $750 was money well spent. They couldn't afford to spend like that all the time, but a splurge now and then was in the budget.

He put his hand on her knee. "You deserve it, Brenda. The shoes look great on you, and like you said, you can wear them to your new job. Consider it my 'welcome home' present."

Brenda laced her fingers through his. "Let' see," she pretended to count with her free hand. "I got a dozen red roses. I got a night in a swanky hotel. I got taken out to a romantic dinner. I got really sexy lingerie. I got breakfast at a fancy restaurant. And I got a pair of Jimmy Choo pumps. Well, I say that's quite a haul. I should go away more often."

Fritz squeezed her knee and slowly began to slide his hand up her thigh. "Is that all you got, Brenda?" he said in a baritone, giving her That Look.

"Let's see, um, I counted hotel, dinner, shoes…yea, I think that's about it." She gave him a wide-eyed, confused look in return.

His hand continued to travel up her thigh. "You sure you can't think of anything else, anything else at all? How about something…_intangible_?"

She kept her face blank. "I'm sure I don't know what you are talkin' about."

His hand snaked further up her leg and she jumped. As if they were playing chicken, she said, "I give, you win, you win!" She giggled and pulled his hand out from under her skirt. "You gave me loads of amazin' sex, okay? The absolute best welcome home present I could ask for, cuz it's what I've been dreamin' of the entire time I was in Atlanta. How's that for 'intangible,' you big stud?"

He grinned like the Cheshire cat. "That's what I wanted to hear, honey."

She rolled her eyes. "Impossible!" she huffed, pretending to be annoyed, all the while massaging Fritz's thigh.

After 20 minutes of driving, Fritz said, "we're getting close. You remember staying with Sharon?"

Brenda visibly shuttered. "It's all a big blur to me. I remember that her guest room had blue walls and her daughter looked just like her and was a good cook. I don't remember the neighborhood." She chewed her lower lip.

"Well, this is it," he said. His stomach was doing backflips and the small, nasty voice in his head kept saying over and over, _"she's going to hate it."_ "And before we get any farther, Brenda, I just have to say…"

"No! No no." She dropped his hand and twisted in her seat to look at him. "No more disclaimers. I've had enough. Fritz, if for some reason I don't like the place, we can work on changin' it. Or I can learn to accept it. After all the crappy things that have happened over the past year, do you really think buyin' a house that doesn't match my ideals will make it to my list of traumas?"

Fritz could only nod. She had a point. Things, after all, are relative.

He pulled up in front of the house and had barely turned off the car before Brenda had hopped out and was walking toward it. "Hey Fritz, is the pool behind this tall fence?" She looked over her shoulder at him. This is great for you, honey! You have wanted a pool forever."

"How do you—"

"For heaven's sake Fritz, you aren't the only one who remembers personal conversations. Just like you know me, I know you. And I know how much you want a pool. Every time we talk about a house, you're always. 'let's make it all about Brenda.' But once you let it slip that you have some fantasies about the two of us and what we could do in a swimming pool if we had one."

He caught up to her and threw his arm over her shoulder, pulling her close and kissing her cheek. "Guilty as charged," he said, and she smiled up at him.

Eric must have heard them, because he came to the door before Fritz knocked, his cell phone glued to his right ear. He wordlessly motioned to Brenda and Fritz and they stepped inside, the central air a welcome contrast to the heat that made their clothes stick to their skin. Eric put his hand over the receiver and whispered to Brenda and Fritz, "sorry, it's my girlfriend, and we're working on some moving plans. Fritz, do you mind showing your wife around?"

Fritz walked Brenda through each room, describing what color he wanted to paint the dingy walls, and which furniture he thought would fit there. Brenda said nothing, and just followed him. When they got to the kitchen, with its ugly teapot pattern wallpaper and avocado appliances, he outlined his vision for a new kitchen, how the wall would be knocked down and a breakfast bar put in, granite countertops were a must, and on he went. He painted a verbal picture that sounded a lot like the kitchen of her old house. If she realized this, she didn't say anything.

Her silence was making him increasingly nervous. Fritz knew she got that way sometimes when she was concentrating, or when she had to take a lot of information in at one time, which was what she was doing now. _Still, she knows how anxious I am about this, couldn't she offer up a word of encouragement?_ He was relieved that when she walked into the master bedroom, she immediately went over to the double doors and opened them onto the back porch. _Just like your old bedroom_, he tried to communicate telepathically to her. She looked pleased, but still didn't say anything.

After finishing touring the bedrooms and bathrooms, they wandered back out to the main area, and Brenda slipped out back. She ran her hand over the glass table, and Fritz told her Eric was leaving it for them. She nodded, and then looked at the pool, clear blue and inviting on such a hot day. She walked around it, at one point taking off her sandal and dipping her toe into the water, and then turning around to check out the back of the house, shielding her eyes from the sun, he expression still unreadable.

Fritz couldn't take it anymore. If she hated it, he needed to know, because they had to figure out what to do, if they could back out of the sale, or if she could resign herself to live there. He was sweating more than from just the sun. _ Did I screw up? Did I ruin this entire thing? Did I cause more stress for Brenda? _By the time he reached her on the far side of the lawn, he was about ready to throw himself into the pool.

"Hey," he said. "Brenda, honey, this is torture. I've been worried sick about you not liking this house for two weeks and now you're finally here and you haven't said a word. Please don't do this. Tell me what's on your mind."

She turned away from him and squatted down to look at what used to be a lovely landscaped area of earth that ran alongside the privacy fence. "I think," she said slowly, then stopped.

"What?" he practically yelled out of frustration.

She rose slowly, her back still to Fritz. "That it reminds me," she said, and she stood up, turning toward Fritz, "of my little bungalow."

And she was smiling. Truly smiling. One of her stop-the-world-on-its-axis smiles. And Fritz felt relief flood through every cell in his being.

She threw her arms arounsd him. "I love it, Fritz, it's perfect. Thank you. Thank you for finding us a home."

**END CHAPTER 3**

**Here's your guilt trip...I typed most of this chapter with two fingers taped together recovering from sprains... would it be so hard for you to hit the Review button with your healthy fingers? **(I'm evil)

47


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes:**

Hold your rotten fruit! Chapter 4 is finally here. Sorry it took so long. This chapter ended up being the longest one yet.

In this chapter Fritz reflects back on his alcoholic father and his beloved mother. I wrote a great deal of his backstory in terms of his his childhood with an abusive father, his own drinking problem, and going through rehab in The Second Daughter.

I can't possibly thank my editing team (yes, I had a team this time) for wading through this mess. You can't imagine how sloppy it is until **Kate Rosen** and **BeebleZeeble** got their hands on it. They just don't edit the words, they considered the plot, noted if anything felt out of place or inorganic, reflected on how true to a character a piece of dialogue was...they bathed in this story for days before returning it to me with all their great insights. I can't thank Kate and BZ enough.

**As always, there is an M-rated version of this chapter posted here .**

(I stole this idea from KT, BTW...) _**when we last saw our beloved couple, they had spent a hot, sexy night at the Beverly Wiltshire hotel to celebrate Brenda's return. The next day, Fritz took Brenda to see the house he had bought when she was in Atlanta. Despite Fritz's trepidation, Brenda was very happy with the little bungalow.**_

**Welcome Her Home with Red Roses, Chapter 4**

Fritz was entangled in that heavy, mud-like phase of sleep that doesn't readily let go. He felt a tug, a summoning from the real world, but he was too cocooned in the thick cotton wool of unconsciousness to heed the call.

Until Brenda hit him.

The sting of pain drew him into wakefulness, and as if swimming from the ocean floor to the surface, the closer he got to shallow waters, the more he became aware of. The bed was trembling, an undulating wail filled the room, and his right arm was getting struck repeatedly. He hoped that when he opened his eyes, all of this would make sense.

It did. Brenda was having a nightmare.

She had tossed all the covers off and was thrashing violently, her hands balled in fists and flailing, in search of an opponent, finding one in the air, the mattress, and occasionally, his arm. Her legs were pulled back almost to her chest and were also kicking an invisible enemy . Her head was lashing side to side, and a low moan, like that of a wounded animal, escaped from her clutched jaw. And the look on her face…Fritz could barely stand to look.

The face he loved so much was twisted in sheer terror. Naked fear. He had to get Brenda out of whatever dark place she had been sucked into, and quickly. Fritz immediately got up and ran into the bathroom, soaked a washcloth with cold water, and went back to the bed. He squatted next to her side, grasped Brenda's upper arms, and pulled her into a sitting position. He called her name softly then louder, all the while withstanding the slaps and kicks from her still- flailing arms and legs. He placed the cold washcloth at first in her hand, then to her cheek and the back of her neck. The chill of the washcloth shocked her the final steps into wakefulness, and her eyes flew open. Brenda looked at him, startled, eyes filled with tears as she took gasping breaths.

When she finally could speak, she reached out, put a hand on Fritz's shoulder and said, simply, "not again."

...

_**20 Days Earlier**_

_Fritz was cooling down from a five-mile run when he felt his phone ring in his sweatpants pocket. He wiped his sweaty hand before grabbing it on the third ring, checking the caller before hitting the Answer button. "Hey honey," he said, finding himself still winded. "Why are you calling from your parents' house phone? Did you lose your cell? Don't tell me you put it through the washing machine again." He sat down on a patch of grass and began to stretch._

_"What's wrong with her?" came a gruff voice over the line._

_Fritz, bent over his left leg for a hamstring stretch, froze. "Mr. Johnson? Is everything okay?"_

_"You tell me," Clay answered. "What the hell is wrong with Brenda? She won't tell me a thing, so I need you to be honest with me. Now."_

_What the hell? __Fritz leaned back on his free hand and gazed up at the flawless morning sky. _Give me strength_._

_"Mr. Johnson, I have no idea what you are talking about. Did something happen to Brenda? Is she okay?" He wiped the sweat dripping into his eyes._

_"No, Fritz, she isn't okay. That's why I'm calling you." Clay cleared his throat. "Sorry, I don't mean to be so short. I just didn't get a lot of sleep last night is all. And I'm worried sick about Brenda."_

_Fritz gave up on trying to stretch, his building anxiety eclipsing everything else. "What happened? Clay, you're getting me really worked up-" _

_"Last night," Clay interrupted, "I woke up to Brenda hollering. I mean, the girl was screaming loud enough to wake the dead! I ran to her room and she was having the worst kind of nightmare. It took me five minutes to wake her up, and another ten to calm her down. She was sweating and shaking like a leaf."_

_"Oh god," Fritz said._

_"I don't think god had anything to do with it," Clay retorted. "And neither did her mother dying, or leaving her job, or all the other reasons she gave me for why she had such a horrible nightmare. Son, I was in the military, and I've seen some pretty badly scarred soldiers. I can recognize a traumatized person when I see one. She refuses to give me a straight answer, so I'm depending on you. What the hell happened to my little girl?"_

_Fritz closed his eyes and collapsed back against the cool grass. He should have known that the nightmares, which were so vivid right after Stroh's attack, wouldn't go away just because she was in Atlanta. In the nine days between that horrible night and her trip home, Fritz had barely got any sleep; it seemed as soon as he drifted off Brenda would start flailing and gasping for breath, tears running down her face, reliving Stroh's attack. Fritz would wake her up and calm he down, holding her in his arms tightly until she relaxed enough to fall asleep again. This scenario replayed sometimes twice a night, and dark circles stood out like bruises on pale skin under Brenda's eyes. Fritz didn't look much better, bags and bloodshot eyes so striking that his reflection reminded him of his drinking days. _

_He had asked her more than once since during her time in Atlanta, if she was having bad dreams, and she had answered him lightly, saying she had only had one or two when she first arrived, but then they pretty much had gone away. He should have known not to believe her. For one, a change of locale doesn't heal psychic wounds overnight, and two, Brenda's proclivity to lie wasn't going to go away just because she had decided to work on herself. He had given her just a little too much credit._

_"Clay," he said wearily, "if you want to know anything, you have to ask Brenda. You know I can't betray her trust and talk about her behind her back. She would be furious with me."_

_"So something did happen! I knew it."_

There is no way I can win this_, Fritz thought. "You need to talk to Brenda. I am not getting caught in the middle. That's not fair to me."_

_"Fair?" Clay said incredulously. "Your wife is having a nervous breakdown and you're worried about what is fair?"_

_Now Fritz was pissed. How dare Clay accuse him of being a bad husband? "Listen, you don't have any right to judge what goes on between Brenda and me. I am very aware of her mental state, and believe me, it kills me not to be with her now, but you need her, so I've stepped aside. Don't you think I would love to get to spend an entire month with Brenda, and after the year she's had, don't you think we could use it? But we decided that her time would be best spent in Atlanta, with you. I talk to her twice a day, and every night after you go to bed, we spend about two hours on the phone, where she shares her day with me. I am there for her as much as I can be. Yes, she is having an extremely hard time, and it breaks my heart to know she's in pain and I'm not there to hold her. But if you want the details, you'll have to talk to her. I know that getting the truth out of her can be frustrating, but that's your only option. I'm too loyal to Brenda to break her trust. So don't ever accuse me again of not being good to your daughter." Fritz had worked up a good head of steam, and a few passers-by had stopped to stare at him._

_Silence on the other end of the line. Finally Clay said, "you're right, son. Your first loyalty is to your wife, and I know how cagey Brenda can be. She just scared me so bad last night."_

_"I'm sure she did," Fritz answered, his words clipped, anger still flowing through his veins. He genuinely felt for Clay; Brenda's nightmares were terrifying to witness._

_"I'll talk to her again when she gets home, and this time I won't take 'I'm fine' for an answer," Clay continued._

_"Where is she?" asked Fritz._

_"Out shopping with Charlie. They went to breakfast and then to the mall. Those two have been inseparable this summer."_

_Fritz hoped Brenda didn't come back to LA with a pot habit._

_"Good luck talking to her, Mr. Johnson," Fritz said, standing up and walking toward the duplex. His sweat-soaked clothes had grown clammy and uncomfortable against his skin, and he was eager to hop in the shower._

_"Thanks," Clay said. And then softer, "hey Fritz?"_

_"Yeah?" Fritz was almost at his front door and impatient to get Clay off the phone._

_"I'm sorry for what I said. Brenda couldn't have a better husband."_

_..._

_Fritz tossed his running clothes in the hamper and took a quick shower. Wrapped in a towel, he sat down on the bed, picked up the phone, and called Brenda's cell._

_"Hey honey, why are you callin' so early?" Brenda's Southern accent had grown even thicker during her time home, and the sweet molasses quality of it always made him smile._

_Before he could answer, he heard her say, "Charlie, you try those on, this is Fritz callin', I'll be right outside the dressin' room." Mumbles in the background, and Brenda again. "Charlie says hi. You at work already?"_

_"No, I just got back from my morning run. Which ended with a phone call from your father."_

_"What? Why did Daddy call you?"_

_Fritz was getting irritated. Either Brenda was clueless or she was covering up._

_"He called me because he's freaking out over the intense nightmare you had last night. He said he's seen enough PTSD in soldiers to recognize trauma, and he demanded to know what happened to you."_

_He could hear her breathing rapidly on the other end. "Oh no. Oh no. He didn't."_

_"Yea, he did. And Brenda, why did you lie to me? I thought you were done with that. You promised you were going to start being honest. For once." He knew that was a cheap shot, but was worried as he was for her, he was also irritated that, despite all of Brenda's professing that she wanted to change, she was still lying to him._

_"I have been, Fritzy, I have, why-"_

_"I asked you specifically about the nightmares, Brenda. And you told me they had stopped."_

_"They got better," she said weakly. He huffed._

_"No really Fritz, I hadn't had one that bad since my first few days in Atlanta. And I know I shouldn't have lied to you, cuz yea, I still have them, just they haven't been as bad as the one last night, but what was the point? You aren't here to comfort me, to wake me up and to help me get back to sleep, so all that's gonna happen is you are gonna feel bad for not bein' here for me. And there's no point to that. Bein' apart has been hard enough."_

_She had a point._

_"Don't lie to me, Brenda," he said, softer. "I am so tired of it. Please. I can handle whatever you throw at me, as long as it's the truth."_

_"Okay, okay. Wait one sec." He heard her hand covering the mouthpiece, yet could make out her voice yelling something about looking thinner._

_"Charlie," she said, as an apology. "She's tryin' on like a billion pair of jeans, and I have to weigh in on each one." She attempted to laugh, but it fell flat. Fritz didn't respond, waiting silently on the line for her to explain herself._

_"What did you tell Daddy, Fritz? Did you tell him about Stroh? Please tell me you didn't." She sounded worried._

_Fritz ran his hand through his hair and glanced at the clock. He was running very late for work. Yet again, Brenda-drama was interfering with his job. He stood up and began to gather his clothes one-handed. _

_"I told him that he had to talk to you. I wasn't about to break your trust and talk about you behind your back. He accused me of not caring about your well-being, and I have to admit, I kind of yelled at him for that. But Brenda, you have to tell him the truth. He knows something happened to you, and he's going to keep at both of us until he finds out what it is."_

_"But you agreed with me that tellin' him about Stroh was a bad idea." She sounded desperate. "It would be too hard on him to know that he almost lost his daughter two weeks after his wife died."_

_Fritz stood inside the closet and sagged against the frame. Every time he thought about how close to dying Brenda had come that night, he felt like his heart was being ripped out._

_"Oh honey, I'm sorry," Brenda whispered, correctly interpreting his silence. "I know you don't like to think of...it. Just imagine how Daddy would take the news."_

_Fritz righted himself and reached in the closet for a suit. "I'm not going to argue with you, Brenda. You know what you need to do. You father knows something happened, something traumatic, and he will work on you until he finds out what that is. Oh, I take that back, he will work on both of us until he finds out. So why don't you do me a big favor and just come out and tell him what happened? I think your father is tougher than you think."_

_"Maybe," she said, sadness weighing down each word. "Question is, am I?"_

_..._

_Brenda's nightly phone call came early that evening. Fritz had just gotten home from an AA meeting and was just finishing some leftover Indian food when the phone rang. He grabbed it on the way to the bedroom, loosening his tie as he walked._

_"Hey Brenda, you're early tonight," he said cautiously. He was never sure of her moods on these evening calls. The events of the day, her father's mercurial temper, and the erratic ebb and flow of grief all influenced how light or dark Brenda was for their long nightly discussions. Fritz always tested the waters first, gauging her disposition before saying too much. Having an idea of her emotional state and proceeding cautiously served him well during not only this difficult separation, but pretty much their entire relationship._

_"Missed you," she said simply. Fritz noticed she was slurring her words. He reached the bedroom and one-handedly began to shed his work clothes._

_"Brenda, did you have a few glasses of Merlot tonight?" He tried to sound casual. If she thought for a second he was judging her, well, there could be trouble._

_She laughed, a dry, hollow laugh. "You don't honestly think," she said, her speech stilted, "that I was gonna be able to tell Daddy about Stroh attackin' me stone cold sober?" More empty laughter. "Nope, nope, nope. Good thing is, Daddy always has whiskey in the house."_

_Fritz had never seen Brenda drink whiskey before. An occasional gin & tonic, Cosmos and Appletinis when they went out sometimes, but never whiskey. "How much did you have?"_

_"Not nearly enough," she answered. "In fact, I don't think there is such a thing as enough whiskey to get you through tellin' your Daddy you were almost raped and murdered in your own house right after your Mama died. Although, I think it might have helped if I poured Daddy a stiff one before I started talkin.'" Her voice became sad._

_Fritz pulled on an old tee shirt and boxers and collapsed on the bed. Just what Brenda needed, a drinking problem. He sighed._

_"How did it go?" he asked softly._

_"Oh, just great, Fritz, just swell." Her words were still slurred, but now had an acerbic quality. "It was great bondin' between my Daddy and me, let me tell you. In fact, it was so fun watchin' his face turn purple with anger one minute, and then his eyes get all teary the next, that I wish I'd told him sooner!" Fritz heard a choking sob through the phone._

_"Oh Brenda," Fritz breathed. "Honey, cut the sarcasm, okay? It just pushes me away, like the alcohol does. I'm so sorry you had to go through this, I really am, and I'm sorry your dad had to hear it."_

_Silence at the other end. He let it stretch out one minute, than two, figuring Brenda was gathering her thoughts. Finally, he called out her name. Nothing. He yelled again. No response. Finally, after a few more tries, the distinct sound of the phone being dropped played in his ear._

_"Oopsy," Brenda mumbled. _

_"What happened? Jesus Brenda, you scared me!" He was angry._

_"I wasn't tryin' to scare you, Fritzy, I wasn't. I was lyin' here, and I closed my eyes, and I guess I fell asleep for a minute or two. I'm so sorry."_

_He sighed. "It's okay, Brenda. Why don't we call it a night? You've been drinking, and honestly, you need to sleep it off before we can have a real conversation." He was heavy-hearted at the thought of cutting short their nightly chats, the highlight of his day, but he knew from experience that conversations with drunk people were exercises in frustration and futility._

_"Yea," Brenda mumbled, sounding as if her face was buried in a pillow. "I didn't get much sleep last night." _

_"I know baby," he whispered into the phone, any anger he had toward her for turning to a bottle instead of him to deal with her pain dissipating. "Go to sleep. You sound so tired. We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"_

_Silence for a few moments. Fritz thought she had fallen asleep, then, "hey Fritzy?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"I've been tired for over a year. I'm tired down to my bones." He could hear the tears in her voice, breaking through the whiskey._

_"I know, Brenda, I know." He leaned his head into his hand and closed his eyes._

_"Fritzy?" she sniffed._

_"Yea Brenda."_

_"What if I forget how to feel any other way?"_

* * *

Returning to the apartment had been rough, especially after the 24 hour reprieve given to them by Fritz's romantic welcome home gift. They spent an hour at the new house after leaving the Beverly Wiltshire Hotel, discussing paint colors and furniture placement. When the owner, Eric, was beginning to give them looks hinting that they had overstayed, Brenda then thought of excuse after excuse to prolong returning to the duplex: a trip to the drug store, a visit to her favorite bakery for the cookies she missed desperately while in Atlanta, an early dinner. Fritz knew what she was doing, but finally pointed out that Joel needed to be fed. Brenda put on her "resolve" face and he headed home.

Brenda gasped when Fritz opened the door to their apartment, his arms loaded with suitcases. "The whole place is practically packed up, Fritz!" she said, maneuvering around boxes as she walked further into the apartment.

After signing the Purchase and Sales agreement, Fritz immediately went to work on moving prep. Packing up their things served several purposes, so he settled into the task with great gusto. It gave him something to do to get his mind off Brenda, and at the same time it was an action, a movement of their lives away from the chaos and pain of the past year. Throwing away old books, dishes, clothes and other detritus felt like a purge. Most importantly, though, having boxes strewn around the duplex and familiar items packed away made the entire place looked different. And Fritz hoped that if it looked different, it may seem a little less frightening to Brenda, as it would no longer exactly resemble the tableau of her nightmares.

"I hope you don't mind the mess," he said. "I know it doesn't make for a great welcome home. But I had some free time, and since we're moving in two weeks, I thought I'd get started with the packing. I figured, the more I did when you were gone, the less we'd need to do when we're together."

Brenda waved her hand. "I don't mind the mess, honey. I'm the one who lived out of boxes for months, remember? It's nice that you did all this work. I had planned on doin' some packin' next week, but I guess I can just focus on my own stuff." She turned around and kissed him on the cheek, and continued through the maze of packed items to the bedroom.

They put in a Netflix movie and cuddled on the couch with Joel, whose attempts to punish Brenda for her absence by ignoring her lasted all of ten minutes. Fritz was relieved with how relaxed Brenda seemed, and congratulated himself on his "moving mess" scheme. Making the apartment look different, almost impersonal, seemed to have eased some of her anxiety. At first.

She started to fidget about an hour into the movie. At first he thought she couldn't get comfortable, so he took his arm around her shoulder until she adjusted herself. But then she kept squirming, and the look on her face showed that something wasn't right.

Finally, he had enough of her tossing and turning. Fritz grabbed the remote and hit "Pause," then turned to face Brenda, her face wrinkled in confusion and… _was she in pain?_

"Brenda, what is up with you? I've seen two-year-olds who are better at sitting still than you are right now. Are you okay?"

She looked away. "I'm fine. It's just…" she trailed off.

"It's just what?"

She crossed her legs and stared down at her hands. "It's stupid, Fritz. I'm just bein' stupid."

He was losing his patience. "Brenda, what's going on? I'd really like to finish the movie."

Brenda chewed her lip. "Well, I was kinda hopin', maybe, that you'd need to, um, pee sometime soon." She buried her face in her hands.

_Why in the world does she care about my bladder? What the—oh_. It hit Fritz like a ton of bricks. How could he have been so insensitive?

He reached out and laid an open palm on her back. "I'm so sorry, Brenda. We should have gone and inspected the bathroom together when we got home. I wasn't thinking."

She shook her head violently. "I'm bein' silly, just plain silly. I know Stroh's in jail, and here I am, actin' like a little girl, my bladder ready to burst cuz I'm afraid to go into my own bathroom…" She drifted off, still not meeting his eyes.

"You don't sound like a little girl to me," he said softly. "You sound like a traumatized person returning to the scene of the crime. Which in a perfect world, you would never have to do. So here—" he stood up and held out his hand for her—" let's go check out the bathroom and have you pee before your back teeth start floating." She managed a weak smile before standing and accepting his hand.

Together, they inspected the window and confirmed that it was shut and locked, something they did each morning and evening after the attack. Fritz opened the shower door and they looked. No Stroh. Brenda sighed. "I feel like we're checkin' for monsters under the bed, for heaven's sake!"

"We are," he said sadly. "Luckily, this monster is locked up in prison."

As she shooed him out of the bathroom, he heard her whisper, "he's not locked up in my nightmares."

And he clearly wasn't.

...

Fritz woke the before Brenda did, the bright August sun inescapable in its morning enthusiasm despite his burying his head in his pillow. He finally relented and opened his eyes a crack, and found Brenda spooned tightly against him, her hand resting gently on the arm he had around her waist. She was breathing deeply, undisturbed by the brightness of the day. He raised his head and peered over at her. She always looked younger when she slept, her face unlined, and there was no trace of last night's turmoil, for which Fritz was glad. He reached out with his free hand and gently stroked her hair. He wished he could somehow take away the pain within her, wipe away the memories that performed a terrifying play in the darkest part of night. _Tabula rasa._ A new job, a new house, and a mind scrubbed free of Philip Stroh. Was that too much to ask?

After waking her last night, Fritz walked her to the bathroom for a drink of water and to fully rouse her from the dream's clutches. The simple cotton tee shirt she had thrown on after they had made love was soaked with sweat, so Brenda took it off and threw on the short robe hanging on the back of the door. She almost made it back to the bed before her tears started. He took her in his arms, and she collapsed into him.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" he asked softly. Not that he needed a plot summary. He knew what her dreams consisted of. A cut out screen. Stroh in the kitchen. Brenda, without her gun. An attack by Stroh that didn't end with him shot, but had a much, much worse outcome.

She shook her head, pulled away from him, and wiped her face. "No, no. It's just more of the same." She forced a smile. "I have the best timin,' don't I? Here I am, back home, and I'm havin' nightmares. You probably don't believe me that they got better in Atlanta. I mean, after Daddy called you. I only had a couple after that."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You telling the truth?"

She grunted in frustration. "Yes! I told you I wouldn't lie about them anymore, didn't I? Besides, I found an intervention that seemed to help." She walked to the bed and crawled in. He followed and settled into his side.

"Intervention?" He asked. "Please tell me this intervention didn't come from Charlie."

"Yea Fritz, I was tokin' up in my old bedroom every night after we got off the phone," she said sarcastically. "Somehow, I don't think pot would help keep these dreams from happenin."

"Just checking, honey. If not drugs, what did you use?"

"Well," she said, scooting down and rolling over to face him, "I started sleeping with Vickie."

Fritz laughed. "You started sleeping with the dog? That was your big treatment for your nightmares?"

She reached out and lightly smacked him. "Well, it helped. See, Vickie's not supposed to be up on the beds, so she was all kinds of affectionate when I let her sleep with me. And I think havin' someone, an animal-someone, I mean, helped somehow." She paused. "Vickie was kind of a substitute for you."

Fritz tried to look offended. "Did you really just say I was replaced by a golden retriever? Really? Can I tell you how hurt I am?" He stuck out his lower lip, which Brenda leaned over and kissed.

"No honey. Vickie couldn't spoon me and she has terrible breath. But she was nice and warm in bed, and that was better than nothin.'"

The last vestiges of fear and frustration had drained from Brenda's voice when she started yawning. Heavy-lidded, Fritz helped her settle back into bed, then wrapped his arms tightly around her. "You gonna stay with me?" Brenda asked, in a voice so hesitant and tender it nearly broke his heart.

"I wouldn't be anywhere else." He whispered, rhythmically stroking her hair. Before long her body became lax, and breathing slowed and deepened. Fritz forced himself to stay awake until Brenda drifted off, as if he could ward off the dreams himself, like a valiant knight slays a dragon. When he was satisfied she was no longer awake, he slowly started to relax, the tension of the past couple of hours forced out of his body by sheer exhaustion. At last he was able to disconnect from the world, and .joined Brenda in a several hours of unmarred sleep.

...

He watched her sleep in the morning light like he had so many times before, but found himself unable to enjoy the rare peace, the vulnerability of her beautiful face like he had so many other mornings. The bad dream from the night before refused to be ignored, and banged on the door like a demanding child who doesn't allow its parents a moment's peace. In the month she had been gone, he had almost forgotten how awful her nightmares were, how being torn from sleep by her wails and somnolent fright made his heart nearly explode from his chest and the tang of fear appear on the back of his tongue. Her eyes…_as long as I live, I will never forget the look in her eyes_… when he first tried to wake her up, her body was in his bed but her mind was on the kitchen floor with Philip Stroh. Eyes wide open that should be seeing a loving husband were shuttered to anything but the film of her mind, one too horrible for Fritz to even imagine. _Don't go there,_ he told himself, and yanked his thoughts back like a dog on a leash every time he started to wander down the path of "what if?" _What if Brenda wasn't able to reach her gun? What if she missed Stroh when she shot him? What if Stroh killed Rusty and went for Brenda next? What if, what if, what if… _He squeezed his eyes tight and ordered himself to stop his disobedient thoughts. He lay there for a few minutes counting Brenda's breaths, until he felt calmer. As he leaned over and kissed Brenda on the top of her head, the question that had been niggling at him surfaced. _What if she isn't okay?_ Everyone expected Brenda to be superwoman, because she was in the CIA, because she was the Chief, because she's, well, _Brenda_. But she's also human, very much so, and most people would have some degree of post-traumatic stress after a violent attack. Clay Johnson saw that in Brenda when he had witnessed a nightmare in Atlanta. And that meant she needed professional help.

He brought this up to her a couple of days before she left for Atlanta. Since she had resigned from the LAPD, she could ignore the order to see Dr. Leonard, the department psychiatrist, for evaluation. And ignore she did. Over coffee while discussing when he would drive her to the airport, Fritz tentatively suggested that Brenda arrange to talk to someone when she came back from her trip, to process not only Stroh's attack but all the other proceeding stressers. Brenda put down her steaming mug and appeared to be considering what he was saying for a moment, with pursed lips and a tilted head.

And then she went nuts. With a red face and wild gesticulations, her voice grew louder and her accent thicker. Fritz was so thunderstruck by her indignation that he only caught tidbits of her rant—_just because I'm a woman, trained by the CIA, not breakable, took care of myself, didn't I_. When she had sufficiently expressed her fury she dumped her coffee in the sink and stormed out the door, leaving Fritz frozen in place at the kitchen table. She was like the cartoon of the Tasmanian Devil he used to watch on Saturday mornings, all ferocity and speed, whipping around everyone else and stirring up dust in her wake. He wondered if Brenda was so fast she could outrun her own ghosts.

In an hour or so, Brenda stirred and opened her eyes. "Hey sleepyhead. How are you feeling?" He kissed her nose.

She yawned. "I'm fine,' she said, in the tone that told him she didn't want to talk about the previous night's drama. .She pulled herself upright on the bed and began to climb over him. He tried to grab her around the waist but she slithered out of his grasp. She headed to the bathroom and shut the door.

He was worried that she was upset at him, but a minute later she poked her head out and asked him to join her in the shower. She resisted his attempts at seduction , teasing him to save some for later and let her recover, and they were able to both get clean before the hot water ran out. Laughing, they spilled out into the bedroom, and then into the kitchen for pancakes enjoyed over the Sunday paper, and Fritz's unease lightened a bit..

Brenda was furiously working on the crossword puzzle when Fritz had a thought. "Honey, we should give Lily a call and set up a time to go to her house for dinner. It seemed like Alexis would be really disappointed if she didn't get to see you before she left LA." He rifled through the stack of newspaper pages for the Sports section.

"Hmmmm?" she said, ensconced in her puzzle.

"Dinner. With Lily and Alexis. We should call them."

Brenda looked up and took off her glasses. She squinted at him. "Dinner with whom?"

"You know, Alexis, the girl you sat next to on the plane. I met her grandmother waiting for you at the airport, and we got to know each other a bit. She seems like a really nice person, and Alexis thought you were very cool."

"Okay," Brenda said. "I remember now. But why are we havin' dinner with them?"

He shook his head in frustration. He should have known Brenda was going to be difficult about this. She wasn't a big fan of socializing. "Because they asked us over to dinner, that's why. And they gave us Lily's contact information. Alexis is only in LA for two weeks and she really wants to see you again. I enjoyed meeting Lily and wouldn't mind getting to know her better."

Brenda set down her crossword puzzle and pencil. "So you are tellin' me," she started, in her Deputy Chief voice, "that we are gonna go over to a complete stranger's house and have dinner with them? Really, Fritz? Are we that desperate for friends?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"They are not complete strangers. We met them, remember?"

She rolled her eyes. "Uh, yea, at the _airport_." She said it like one would deride meeting a person at a brothel or in prison.

He felt his temper rise. Why did she have to be difficult over the smallest things? "Brenda, to answer your question, I'm not desperate for friends. I have friends. You, on the other hand, come up a little empty in the friends department, so you should be grateful someone invited you to dinner."

He knew he went too far by the look on her face. The smug superiority was wiped away and replaced by a haunted visage that reminded him of the girls in high school who blushed when he walked by and spent all their spare time in the library. The confidence that clung to her fine features melted into insecurity and self-loathing, her frank brown eyes no longer meeting his gaze but now jumping nervously at items around the kitchen. The metamorphosis was remarkable. _ I did that to her_, he thought, hating himself.

"Brenda, I'm sorry," she said, reaching out to put his hand over hers, but she pulled away before he could touch her. "That was a stupid thing to say, and I didn't mean it. Forgive me." He redirected and touched her knee instead. She flinched.

"Yes you did," she said. "You did so mean it. I'm not Mr. Popularity like you are, Fritz. I know that. I guess you think I'm just a big loser." She folded her arms over her chest.

Oh crap, it's going to be one of those arguments where she pulls out all her insecurities and dumps them out for him to pick through. Well, he wasn't going to play this time. They were changing their marriage, and it was going to start with this.

"Listen to me, Brenda. I am not going to fight with you less than 48 hours after you have come home. We're still in that gooey honeymoon phase, and I'm not going to give that up. I was getting irritated by you being reluctant about making dinner plans with Alexis and Lily, so I said something hurtful, and I'm really sorry. You know I didn't mean it. Let's not snip at each other, honey. After today we only have one full day together before I have to go back to work. I can think of many better ways to spend it than fighting with each other. You said you want to work on changing our marriage, so let's start with this. Please forgive me for saying something completely stupid and hurting your feelings. I'm hoping you can be the bigger person here and accept my apology, and we can move on and have a good day together."

She was chewing her lower lip, and Fritz could see the tears in her eyes. When had she become so fragile? _Since her life fell apart and then a maniac tried to murder her. _His earlier self-talk about Brenda's mental state and how he wished she would get professional help echoed in his subconscious.

"You're right, Fritzy," she said, her voice wavering. "I don't know what's wrong with me. Yea, I've never had a lot of friends clamorin' around me. I don't know why that should be botherin' me now." She laughed dryly to herself and stood up. "Let me clear these dishes." She picked up his plate and cup and put them on top of hers and, after grabbing their mugs with her other hand, disappeared hastily into the kitchen.

When she didn't come back in five minutes, Fritz went to find her. She was standing at the counter, clutching the edge and staring into the sink like it held the secrets of the Universe. She was so entranced that she didn't hear him enter.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

Brenda spun around and put a hand on her chest. "Shoot!" she yelled, bending over and breathing hard. "Fritz, you scared me. Don't do that!" She put her hands on her knees and bent over, eyes closed.

_It's like she's shell-shocked_, he thought. Aloud, he said, "I didn't mean to startle you, Brenda. I just wondered why you never came back. Are you okay? You look really upset."

She had stopped gulping air and was standing straight. "It's nothin', really. I'm just jumpy in the kitchen is all." She turned from him and grabbed a dirty plate to put in the dish washer.

He reached out and took the plate from her, wrapping her hand in his. "Don't say it's nothing, Brenda. You're clearly upset. The whole 'I'm fine' thing was supposed to be taken out to the garbage, wasn't it?"

She nodded.

"Okay, so why don't you tell me what's really bothering you?" He took her hand and led her to the kitchen table.

She sat down heavily. "It sounds stupid," she mumbled.

"Nothing that comes from your heart sounds stupid," he said, squeezing her hand.

She looked at him, than away. "More emotional stuff. I'd think by now you would get sick of hearin' about all my drama."

"It's not drama, Brenda," Fritz said. "It's personal things, and I'm honored that you share them with me."

She waved an errant hand in the air. "Whatever. So, I know I told you how I was when I was in high school, that I was kind of wild? My boyfriend was a dropout who drove a Harley, which 'bout sent Daddy 'round the bend. I hung out with a few other guys, but I didn't have any girlfriends. I didn't have any use for high school girls, who I thought were all just silly, with their perfect Gap outfits and legwarmers and all that crap. I couldn't be bothered with any of them. Anyways, the day before I flew back here, I went to Starbucks near Daddy's house, and I saw three of the popular girls from school, well, women my age now, of course, sittin' there havin' coffee. I couldn't believe it, 25 years after high school, and still hangin' out with each other. Well, since I've been turnin' over this new leaf and all, I decided to go over and say hi. I even remembered their names. When I was done with my little friendly Southern greetin', one of them looked at the others and said, 'who are you?'"

"Ouch," Fritz said.

"Yea. So I had to stand there in the middle of Starbucks and explain to them we went to high school together, and in fact, one of the women I went to school with since first grade! And they had no idea who I was. They were nice about it and all, and apologized for not recognizin' me, and were askin' all kinds of questions to try and place me like, 'what clubs were you in,' 'what sports did you play,' and 'who were your friends?' And my answer was 'wasn't in any clubs' and 'didn't play any sports' and 'didn't have any friends.' I was so embarrassed I made up some excuse and got out of there as fast as I could." She sniffed.

Fritz wasn't really sure that this story had to do with her outburst this morning. Brenda didn't care about not having friends. Did she? He gave a generic comforting answer. "That must have been awful, honey," he said, trying to sound soothing.

She shook her head. "Getting sued was awful. Having Mama die with somethin' important to tell me was awful. Runnin' in to three housewives who never had enough ambition to get themselves out of Georgia wasn't awful. It just kind of drove home a point I was workin' out on my own." She looked at him. "That's the funny thing with all this navel gazin', Fritz. I start off thinkin' hard on one topic, like maybe I'm out for a run and remembering things about Mama. And then a whole other bunch of stuff comes up, an entirely different part of my life presents itself for some problem-solvin', and I find myself gettin' all these insights on things I didn't start out workin' on." She frowned. "It's a little annoyin', actually."

Fritz nodded. "When you start to look inward, Brenda, issues don't take a number and stand neatly in line. You can be in tears over one thing and a horrible memory of something completely different comes over you. It's like once you tap into yourself, you never know what's going to come out." He put his hand on hers, and she didn't pull away.

"I find it highly annoyin', and I'd like to state for the record that the unexamined life is definitely a lot easier to live," she said. "But anyway, I had been thinkin', for some reason or another, about how I've hardly ever had any friends. I had a few at Georgetown, and you and I were friends at Metro, but I never had a best girlfriend, the kind you tell your secrets to. And it kind of hit me. I've always depended on the men in my life to not only be my boyfriends, but to also be my girlfriends. They end up bein' the only person I have a connection to. So when we break up, it's so much harder for me than it is for them, because I also just lost my only friend too." The sad look on her face made Fritz's throat tighten.

"I've put that burden on you, Fritz, although I think it's a lot healthier than in my other relationships, because we are, well, we are _us_. But Mama was always after me to make friends, and I always ignored her. Seems like so many things, I've only realized she was probably right after she died." Brenda's voice cracked.

"I always thought the best couples were not only lovers, but best friends too," Fritz said. "So I love that you think of me as your best friend. But I can't be everything to you, as much as I want to be. A woman needs girlfriends. And since finding a friend or two sounds like it's on your list for things you want to do in the near future, well, our move couldn't be better timed."

"What do you mean?"

"Honey, isn't it obvious? Our new neighbor is going to be Sharon Raydor. Since you two have stopped hating each other, this is a great opportunity for you to become friends."

Brenda looked at him blankly for a second, and then burst out laughing.

* * *

The day flew by quickly, filled with everything and nothing. Boring domestic chores, such as laundry and making dinner, were a pleasure to Fritz, because he was doing them with Brenda. He had been so lonely without her around that the previously hollow duplex was now filled to bursting with her energy. She seemed more relaxed to be in the home than the day before. She sought him out frequently for a quick hug or kiss, always causing him to grab her around the waist and make her show of affection a little less brief than intended. She didn't even complain when she tripped over the numerous boxes scattered throughout the apartment; she just gracefully righted herself and mumbled that she was counting the days until they moved. So was he.

Despite his joy in the day, a small, niggling dread grew steadily:_ what if she has another nightmare tonight_? He decided that if she did have another bad dream, two nights in a row, he was going to sit her down and have a serious talk about seeing someone. No temper tantrums or storming off this time, because he was going to drive home the point that her trauma wasn't just about her; it was about them. Fritz was touched that Brenda thought of him as her best friend, but wasn't so amused that "therapist" seem to have been added to his list of roles. As happy as he was that she was finally opening up to him, he knew he couldn't fix her. He also knew he was the type of person who tried desperately to make things right for the people he loved, and he absorbed, as much as he could, their suffering. Other people's pain became his pain, and although it made him feel special, like he was a good person, it also made him run to the bottle. He shook his head, thinking back on his past relationships where he was nothing but a Sherpa for the other person's problems. He already did too much caretaking for Brenda; he couldn't take on her psychic wounds too. He thought about her terrified expression the night before and shuddered. _I can't heal her, as much as I want to_, he thought. _I can only throw her the life saver and step back, or she'll pull me in and we will both drown_. So he decided that if she had another nightmare tonight, she was off to therapy_. Even if he had to truss her and lock her in the trunk of his car just to get her there_. If her mind was quiet and lets her sleep, well, he'd see how she was doing overall before addressing her mental health.

His anxiety about bedtime was alleviated somewhat that evening when Brenda climbed on top of him and started to unbutton his shirt. After a few minutes of wrestling on the too-narrow couch, he scooped up his giggling wife and took her to the bedroom, where he proceeded to kiss every square inch of her perfect body until she begged to have him inside of her. Happy to oblige, they made love for what seemed like hours, changing positions and fighting over who got to pleasure whom. Joel, who was glued to Brenda after his initial snub, jumped back up on the bed right after they came for the last time, seemingly grateful that he bed stopped moving and the humans quieted down, happy to partake in the afterglow. Brenda slowly reached out to pet him, then drew her hand in and rolled on top of Fritz, burying her face in the crook of her neck. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her back, her skin still hot from arousal.

"Fritz?" she mumbled against his neck.

"Yea honey," he answered, fingers lightly tracing the curves of her ass.

She lifted her head and looked him in the eyes. "What if I have another nightmare again?" She had her "worried face" on.

_Then I'm dragging your butt to see a therapist_, he thought. Out loud, he said, "let's concentrate on you not having one, okay?"

Her frown deepened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He rolled her to his side, then propped himself up on his elbow so he could look at her. Brenda did the same. "Well, I've been thinking, and I decided that we need to be proactive with your nightmares. We should try filling your head with as many nice thoughts as possible before you go to sleep and see if that helps."

A smile danced across her lips. "We just made love for two hours. I'd say I'm goin' to sleep with plenty of nice thoughts. And some naughty ones, too."

He reached down and pulled the sheet over them. "Well, there's that. But I thought I'd add some other thoughts too, so your brain will be in a big soup of happiness when you go off to sleep."

She looked at him with one eyebrow raised. "'A big soup of happiness?'"

He grinned. "Okay, that was really corny. I'm just going to fill your head with a bunch of pleasantness as you drift off and see if that wards off the bad dreams. Are you willing to give this a try?"

"Oh yes," she said. "Bring on the love."

"And cut out the sarcasm. Now are you settled in and all ready to go to sleep?"

She sat up and fussed with her pillows for a minute, than lay back down, pulling a light blanket over the sheet and burrowing down in both. "All set."

"Okay," he said, "Now close your eyes. And no talking, just listen."

For once, she obeyed.

Fritz was suddenly at a loss for words. This sounded like such a good idea this afternoon when the idea had come to him, but now, when it was show time, his tongue froze. He wanted to evoke memories of them falling in love, so she would feel safe and cocooned in his devotion as she lost consciousness, as if his love would be a talisman against Philip Stroh. But what to say? There were so many amazing moments in their time together, so much powerful emotion shared. Where would he begin?

At the beginning, of course.

An old college professor of his taught him about Occam's Razor, that the simplest answer is usually the right one. Although with Brenda, he found that frequently the least expected and most convoluted solution was the way to go. _Johnson's Razor_, he thought.

He got comfortable and closed his eyes, allowing his memory to crawl on its hands and knees over his past, picking up shiny bits and holding them up for his consideration.

"I remember when I first met you," he said softly, stroking her hair. "Way back at Metro in DC. I thought you were the most beautiful creature on earth. Still do. And the most brilliant. Since you made it clear you didn't date people at work, I tried my hardest to be your friend, and that was okay. Just being around you was good enough. I used to stare at you when you weren't looking and wonder what it would be like to run my hands through your hair, your beautiful hair, or to kiss you." He leaned down and kissed her cheek. She smiled but kept her eyes closed.

"One night in DC, I think it was about a year after you started working there, we went to an Ethiopian restaurant in Georgetown, not far from your apartment. You had just finished working on this huge case and were celebrating, and me, well, I don't know why you chose to celebrate with me, but I wasn't going to complain. You wore a black dress that was low cut and lacy in the front, and your hair was really curly and pulled to the side in a barrette kinda thing." She smiled at his inadequate description of her hair accessory. "You looked so hot. You had a lot of wine that night, and you wanted to walk the two miles home to your apartment along the Tow Path, so we did. You were laughing the whole way—I don't think I'd ever heard you laugh that much—and you were telling me all these funny stories about growing up in the South. I still can't get over the fact that you actually went to Charm School. I hope your parents' got their money back. Hey, ow! Anyways, you invited me up to your place for a nightcap, and then you asked me about my family life, and I didn't want to ruin the fun mood by sharing anything about myself, and I was able to get the topic steered back to you. After another glass of Merlot you told me all these wild things you did in high school, and I think I pulled a muscle in my gut laughing so hard. I finally left at 3AM, and when you walked me to the door, I sensed you wanted me to kiss you. And oh, I wanted to kiss you so bad. But not like that, when you were buzzed. I told myself that some day my turn would come, and I'd get to kiss you all I want, and until then, I'd just be patient. I went home and spent the next several years wondering if I was right."

He realized he had drifted off to the serious, so he quickly refocused. "One of the best days of my life was the day I found out that you had moved to LA. I wasted no time bribing anyone I had to find out what hotel you were staying at so I could bring you those ballistic results. When you walked down the stairs, Brenda, I swear, I stopped breathing and my heart nearly beat out of my chest, both at the same time. You had gotten even more beautiful than before. Sitting across from you in that hotel bar, hearing you talk about your cases with all that energy you have, well, I feel like someone had jumpstarted me, and I didn't even know I was stalled. Just being around you makes me feel more alive, Brenda. It's an incredible feeling, and I thought of you nonstop, even though you kept blowing off our dates. But the ones you kept were fabulous. Remember when you just had a few hours to spare on a Sunday, so I drove you up the Pacific Coast Highway, and we brought a picnic? We've done that several times since, but this was the first time. You hadn't had the chance to see the ocean since moving to LA, and I'll tell you, you looked like a little kid. It was the most amazing thing to see. Your mouth was hanging open, and it was like you had never seen the ocean before. I could barely get you to eat anything, you were so caught up in watching the waves. And that is the thing that amazes me, whenever we do anything near a beach. You, the one person who can never sit still, suddenly becomes quiet and peaceful. It's like you turn inward and a peace falls over you for awhile. It's quite a transformation."

He shifted his position so he could look down on her. She was awake, but very relaxed. Her breaths were slow and deep, her face almost slack. He kept going.

"I think we dated about two months before we kissed, and it was you who kissed me. And what a kiss it was. You yanked me into you, and your lips were every bit as sweet as I thought they would be, and you were, shall we say, eager. And then Sergeant Gabriel showed up and things ground to a screeching halt and I had to wait two whole days before I got to taste those lips again." Fritz felt his body react from the 8-year-old memory of their first time. They had had tons of great sex since then, but there is something about sleeping with the woman you had been fantasizing about for years that makes for a memorable life experience. He continued: "I went over to your house that night not thinking anything was going to happen. But once I kissed you, and the way you kissed me back, well, I knew the attraction was very, very mutual. It took all my willpower to slow down, because I wanted to touch you everywhere at once, hell, I wanted to do everything to you at once! You finding that wire in your bra put the brakes on, for sure. Sometimes I wonder if there was anyone on the other end listening to us. I sure hope not. Anyways, I'm not sure how we made it into your bedroom, but the next morning there was a trail of our clothes throughout your house. Undressing you was like undressing a goddess, because I had spent a lot of time picturing you naked, and nothing I imagined came remotely close to the real thing. "

She smiled. So she was still awake.

"I just remember thinking that night that if I died right there and then, it would be okay, because I had made love to you, which was the most amazing experience I could ever hope for. I had no idea sex could be like that with anyone, ever. I knew that night I was falling in love, and I was falling hard.

"A few months later, there was a period when we went a few weeks and hardly saw each other. You cancelled every date we made because of your cases, and I was getting more than a little impatient. I knew you felt bad, but I missed being with you so much. Finally, when your big case was solved, you called me and told me to come over on Friday evening and to bring a bag with enough clothes to last the weekend. I was skeptical that this would actually happen and didn't let myself get excited about it, because the prospect of spending an entire weekend with you, well, that was incredible. I assumed you'd be called out on a murder and if I was lucky you would remember to call me an cancel. What I didn't know was that you did all kinds of wheeling and dealing to get coverage for your division, even letting Taylor take a case if one came up, so you would only be called in a real emergency. I was so touched when you told me that. Anyways, Friday came and you texted me to remind me to come over at 7, so I stopped and got a big bouquet of flowers, still a little amazed I was at least going to have one night with you. I got to your place and it was all lit up with candles and there was soft music playing. And I didn't think you had a romantic bone in your body! You had on this incredibly sexy red dress, and your hair was down and curly, the way I like it. You met me at the door and gave me this really deep, long kiss, and I wanted to drag you to the bedroom then and there, but I could tell you had other plans. You had picked up dinner from a really nice Italian restaurant, and we ate by candlelight. The food was good, but I could barely take my eyes off of you. I had missed you so much. When we were done eating you asked me to do the dishes and disappeared. When I finished cleaning up I found you in the bedroom, also filled with candles, and oh my god, I thought I was gonna have a heart attack. You were lying on the bed, wearing lingerie. Really, really revealing lingerie, fishnet hose, heels, everything. We hadn't been sleeping together too long and I had never seen you in lingerie before, and my eyes nearly fell out of my head. Apparently you liked my reaction because you got this wicked smile on your face, and I will never forget what you said after that. You got up and walked over to me, that really sexy walk you do, and whispered in my ear in your low, come do me tone, 'Fritz, I'm goin' to spend the weekend dispellin' any idea you have that I'm a sweet Southern Belle. ' I nearly melted. You grabbed me by the tie and pulled me down and kissed me hard, and after that the rest of the night is a blur. All I know is that it was hot, really hot, and any reservations we had with each other because we were new lovers went right out the window." Brenda looked like she'd dozed off, but he thought he would continue just in case. "One particular memory from that weekend sticks in my mind—and that was a weekend full of incredible memories, believe me—is that, in the midst of this nonstop sexfest, where we barely dragged ourselves out of bed long enough to get food, I happened to mention a dairy not that far outside the city that sells ice cream. You would have thought I told you I found a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. You hopped out of bed and demanded we go right there and then. We showered and headed out, and the look of bliss when you started in on your triple scoop cone of chocolate whatever, well, I was a little jealous, because it was close to the look I had been putting on your face all weekend. But it was so funny, you were this total seductress in hot lingerie, , practically giving me a heart attack one minute, and the next you are standing in a tee shirt and jeans in a ponytail, eating an ice cream cone like a 10-year-old. I love that you have so many different sides to you, Brenda. I love each and every one of them."

Yup, she was sound asleep.

Fritz rolled over and turned off the light on the bedside table and listened to make sure her rhythmic breathing was uninterrupted. _Here's hoping for an uneventful night of sleep_, he thought, tossing his wish out to no one in particular.

...

Brenda was granted a nightmare-free night on not only Sunday, but Monday night. Tuesday morning Fritz awoke, grateful for the preceding restful eight hours, but depressed at the idea of having to go back to work and leaving Brenda. After he hit the Snooze button a third time he reluctantly pulled back the arm he had draped over her waist he got out of bed and headed to the shower.

Brenda was awake when he came out of the bathroom, but was curled up in bed looking very comfortable.

"Morning, honey," he said, swooping down for a kiss. She tugged playfully at the towel around his waist and he swatted her hand away. "Stop that! Didn't I give you enough last night?" He nipped at her lip.

"You can never give me enough," she said, her voice rough with sleep. "You sure you have to go back to work today, Fritz? Cuz I'm gonna be awful lonely today." She let the sheets slip down to give him a glimpse of her naked body. Fritz swallowed hard.

"Don't play dirty," he said, using all his willpower and turning toward the closet. "Now that you have a normal job and we can take vacations like normal people, I'm trying to save up my vacation time. I have to take a day or two to move, and I'm sure you are going to want me to go to Atlanta with you every once in a while." He grabbed a white shirt and his favorite suit. "And I'm not sure Major Crimes can function without it's FBI liaison." Brenda snorted.

"Besides, didn't you tell me you had things to do to get ready to start your job?" he prodded.

Brenda sighed and sat up. "Yea. I made a hair appointment for tomorrow. I'm gonna go through my clothes today and give some stuff away, and then do some shoppin' this week, maybe get a new suit or two." She sighed. "I hate shoppin', but there are a couple of good vintage stores I found out about, and I do like vintage. All the clothes are small like me."

"Just don't show up to your new job looking like Lucy Ricardo," he joked.

"Huh?" She looked adorable, with her frizzy bedhead, and confused look on her face.

"From 'I Love Lucy.' It was just a joke, honey."

She frowned. "Ha ha. I'll have you know vintage is really in, and I already have a lot of vintage. Several of my suits belonged to my Grandma Anna. I had them fixed up and tailored for me a few years ago. Cost a fortune but I always get complements on them." She crossed her arms and blew out a puff of air, her face red with anger.

Fritz knew when he said the wrong thing. Or more accurately, he knew when Brenda was upset and was looking for Fritz to say something she could pretend was the wrong thing and blow up. He learned a long time ago that this was one of her ways of dealing with emotions she didn't understand.

He sat down next to her on the bed. "Brenda, what's really bothering you?"

She looked at him blankly. "What do you mean? Besides you tellin' me I dress like a 1950s housewife in a sitcom, I'm just fine." She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

He reached out and grabbed her hand and pulled it toward him. "That's not what I said and you know it. And that's not why you're upset. Remember what you are trying to do, honey. You are trying to be more honest with yourself. So take a minute and figure out what's really bothering you. Is it me going back to work?"

Brenda pursed her lips and lay her chin on her knee. She was silent for a minute.

"Noooo," she finally answered. "I mean, of course I'm sad you're goin' back to work. I much rather be havin' fun with you than packin' or shoppin'. But I think havin' you around is a great way for me to avoid havin' to think of anythin' serious, you know? And now you're gonna be at work for the next few days, I'll be alone with my thoughts, and I guess that scares me." She chewed on her lip and looked at him.

He was impressed with her insight. Who was this woman? "Any thought in particular you are running from?" he asked.

She was silent for a minute. Finally, in a soft voice, "I think I'm nervous about my new job. That's silly though, isn't it? I'm just bein' silly." She hopped up and walked over to the chair and picked up the robe that was draped over the arm. She threw it on, and then began to pick up the clothing strewn on the floor.

"It's not silly at all, Brenda. Who wouldn't be nervous when starting a new job?" She didn't turn and look at him, just continued her task. He got off the bed and walked over to her. "Brenda, hey—" he gently took her upper arm and turned her to him. "Stop cleaning for a second. You don't need to be embarrassed in front of me for feeling something that's completely normal."

"I know, it's just that, well, Fritz, the DA's all hate me!" He could see her eyes start to shine.

"No they don't, Brenda." _Yes they do_. "DDA Hobbes doesn't hate you. And Andrea is a really nice woman. You laughed your head off at the idea of becoming friends with Sharon Raydor. But what about Andrea Hobbs? It might be nice to have a friend and ally at work."

She paused as if considering this. "She did ask me out to lunch once," she said softly.

"Did you go?"

She shook her head. "No, I was too busy. As usual."

"Well, why don't you ask her out to lunch next week to return the invitation, and to let her know you want to be friends. That could be a nice way to start out your week at the DA's office."

Brenda considered this for a minute, and smiled. "I think that's a good idea, Fritz. You're right, I do have one person on my side, and that's one more than I had when I started the LAPD." Fritz noticed that Pope had retroactively been demoted and was secretly thrilled.

He gave her a squeeze and let her go. "And now, honey, if I don't get going, only one of us is going to have a job. You okay now?" He looked at her closely.

She smiled back at him. "Yea Fritz, I think I'm okay. Go to work already, will you?"

* * *

It was close to 1PM before he had the chance to fish out the small piece of paper handed to him at the airport and call Lily Powers. She answered after several rings with a breathless, "hello?"

"Ah, hello Lily, this is Fritz Howard. From the airport?" He suddenly felt silly. It was highly possible that Lily had only extended an invitation to dinner to placate her over-eager teen granddaughter, with the expectation that Fritz wouldn't actually call. Maybe Brenda was right; they really were strangers.

"Oh Fritz, of course! I am so glad to hear from you!" Her voice became somewhat muffled, as if she had her hand over the phone. "It's Fritz, Brenda's husband. See, I told you they'd call."

"I hope I didn't catch you in the middle of anything."

"Oh no, Alexis and I were just out for a walk. Right now she's bouncing up and down with excitement that you're on the phone. She's been giving me a hard time ever since we met for not asking for your contact information. In fact, I have had to hold her back from calling he LAPD and asking for, as Alexis put it, a 'pretty blonde cop who used to work there named Brenda.' I pointed out the flaw in her plan that Brenda is no longer employed by the LAPD, calling them with this very accurate description wouldn't be very useful, but teenagers don't readily embrace logic." Fritz heard a very indignant "hey!" in the background.

"Brenda and I needed a few days to ourselves," he said, tempted to use Alexis's vernacular and say they were having "sexy time." "And I just got back to work this morning."

"Well, it really is nice of you to follow up on our invitation then, Fritz. It's clear you and Brenda have a lot going on in your lives right now. Alexis and I are pretty flexible, but we were wondering if you would like to come to dinner at my house next Friday or Saturday night?"

Fritz thought for a minute. He would like to take Brenda out somewhere on Friday night, since she would have spent a few days in the apartment by herself, and it will be his first chance to spend time with her. "How about Saturday night?"

"You sure the two of you don't have anything better to do on a Saturday night in LA than have dinner with an old lady and a teenage girl with questionable manners?" Fritz again heard protests from Alexis in the background.

"You are not old, Lily, and Alexis seems like a great kid. Why don't you give me directions, and tell me what to bring. And I can't think of anything better than to get to know both of you." And it was true: there was something about Lily that Fritz instantly liked, something soft and gentle in her that was attractive and comforting to him. _ I think my mother would have been a lot like Lily if she wasn't worn down by being married to an abusive alcoholic_, he thought. Maybe that's why he's so drawn to Lily. _I'm missing Willie Rae too, and I'm looking for another substitute_. While writing down Lily's address, he wondered, _do we ever outgrow our need for mothering_?

* * *

Saturday was hot, and Fritz was warm in his khakis and cotton shirt. Brenda looked more comfortable than him in a green flowered halter dress with her hair pulled back in a bun.

She sat on the passenger's side of the car, occasionally looking down at the address Fritz had written down on a piece of paper and squinting at the numbers on the houses they were passing.

"We're 'bout a block away, I expect," she said.

"Don't worry about it," Fritz said. "Tara will tell us."

Brenda turned toward him and slid her sunglasses down her nose. "Who?"

Fritz rolled his eyes at Brenda's hit and miss memory. "Tara. It's the name of my GPS."

Brenda regarded the screen in the dashboard. "You named your GPS?"

"Yes, you knew that. Ever since my first one, I've called them all Tara."

She gave him her "I'm married to a madman" look. "Okay, I can understand—wait, _understand _is too strong a word—I get it that you name a piece of equipment. But Fritz, the GPS is now built in to your car. Did you name your steerin' wheel, too?" She sat back in her seat with a smug expression on her face.

He didn't really know what to say to that.

"In 200 yards you will reach your destination," Tara said in her cool, even voice.

"And why 'Tara'?" Brenda asked. "Is Tara the name of your first girlfriend? Your favorite porn star? The Playboy centerfold you liked the most as a teenager? What?"

_My favorite porn star? Where does she come up with these things?_ "No Brenda, 'Tara' is just the voice I chose on my very first GPS. Each voice has a name, I think yours is called 'Tim.'" The GPS in this car has a different voice, but I've been calling it Tara for so long that it just kind of stuck."

She seemed satisfied with the answer and went back to balancing two bottles of Merlot in her lap.

"You have reached your destination," Tara announced without a hint of emotion. Brenda compared the number on the house to the one written down, and nodded, squinting out the window toward Lily's house.

"My, we most certainly have arrived. I had heard Hancock Park was nice. Fritz, why aren't we moving into a house like that?"

The house was a classic Spanish revival, two stories, and large. After all the house-hunting he had done he had gotten pretty good at determining house size. He guessed the house had at least six bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a pool. _ Her house is over three times the size of our new house, _he thought_. _Fritz had his hand on the car door handle, eager to greet his hostess and see the inside of her home when Brenda grabbed his wrist. "Hey Fritz," she said, sounding unsure. "What exactly are we supposed to talk to Daisy about? I mean, we don't know her."

"First of all, her name is Lily," he corrected for the third time that day. "And talk about whatever you want, honey. I guess that's the good thing about not knowing someone very well. You don't have to worry about repeating stories."

"But Fritz…" She was starting to whine, and he was getting impatient. "You know how bad I am at social things. I never know what to say or do." She chewed her lower lip. "And we don't even know this woman, so we can't talk about work things. What do I—" Fritz cut her off.

"Brenda, will you stop worrying, will you? It won't kill you to obtain an social skill or two." He leaned over to kiss her cheek, then exited the car before she could stop him. She followed him. "Besides," he said, as they started up the walkway, "when all else fails, be yourself. That alone is a great ice breaker."

She didn't look amused.

The house sat up on a small hill, and the path leading to the house was lined with perfectly trimmed bushes. Small trees and a carefully tended garden were standard in this neighborhood, but Fritz noticed that in between the requisite landscaping were stone statues: he saw one of Buddha, another of Ganesh, the elephant-headed God, and a third, the Hindu god with all the arms whose name he couldn't remember. He nudged Brenda and pointed. "Who's that?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I got a B in Comparative Religions. And I wouldn't have guessed Ms. Prim and Proper for hippie, would you?"

He put his arm around her and kissed her ear. "All those years as an interrogator, and you didn't learn that people wear more than one face?"

He had barely knocked on the heavy oak door when he heard a young voice yell, "they're here!" and the sound of approaching footsteps. Alexis threw open the door and grinned at them. Her long red hair was styled in a braid down her back, and a small gold ring replaced the diamond in her nose. She wore a black tank top and capris, flip-flops completing her casual outfit.

"Hey!" she said. "I can't believe you guys actually came over! I mean, I know we invited you and all, and I really wanted you to come, but the way you were going at it in the airport, I wasn't sure you would even remember us!"

Brenda stifled an embarrassed laugh at Alexis's bluntness.

From behind her and growing closer, Lily could be heard. "For heaven's sake, young lady, don't leave them on the porch! Show some manners!" Lily reached the door and put a hand on Alexis' s shoulder, gently pushing her aside. "Fritz, Brenda, please forgive me. I really do need to hire better help." She mock-glared at her granddaughter as she moved aside and gestured for them to enter.

As Fritz walked through the door, he couldn't help but marvel at the how different Lily looked than when they first met. Her thick grey hair, worn previously in an elegant knot hung loosely around her face, which had minimal makeup on it. She had traded in her designer suit for jeans, and now wore a short sleeve purple linen top decorated with Chinese characters. She was as attractive as she was at the airport, casual yet still put together. The grace she exuded hadn't changed with her wardrobe.

"Welcome to my home, Fritz and Brenda. And thanks again for coming." She noticed the wine in Brenda's hand and glanced at Fritz questioningly. "I told Fritz you didn't have to bring anything, but can I take those from you?" Brenda handed the bottles and in turn Lily gave them to Alexis with instructions for their placement.

His attention was immediately taken by the beauty of the house, mainly the grand, twisting stairwell covered in Mexican tile that opened up right in front of him. It was breathtaking, and at the top of the stairwell he could see several rooms through arched doorways. His eyes were drawn back to the perfect elegance of the stairwell. He could just imagine Brenda walking down it, dressed in something gorgeous, all grace and sexiness, making a grand entrance.

"I see you like my stairwell," Lily said. "Quite striking, isn't it? It's my favorite part of the house."

"Me too!" piped in Alexis, who had ran up to them, apparently having delivered the wine to its designation relay style. "Ever since I was a little girl I would slide down it. I'll show you later, it's really awesome."

"Oh no you won't," Lily said, with the weariness affected only by mothers. "Your Aunt Penny broke her arm doing that. So please spare me any trips to the ER, dear. It will really put a damper on your visit. And I would think that by age 17 you would have outgrown the lure of my stairs by now." She reached out and wiped a stay stand of hair out of her granddaughter's eyes.

"And although I will also have to ask you, Fritz, to refrain from trying to slide down the banister, because you have a look in your eye that's scaring me, please come in and make my home your home." She took Brenda by the elbow. "We've been looking forward to your visit all week. I do hope you like Moroccan. I made Chicken and Beef Tagine." She wrinkled her forehead. "You do eat meat, don't you? I didn't think to ask."

"Oh yes," Brenda said. "We aren't the bean sprout and tofu-eatin' type of Californians."

"Especially not Brenda," Fritz said. "She thinks chocolate is a fifth food group."

"Oh!" Alexis bounced up and down, clapping her hands, red braid bouncing behind her. "You are going to love dessert. We've been working on it since early this morning." She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. "One drawback of staying here is Gigi wakes me up at 6AM to meditate with her. She's a Buddhist. First thing in the morning Gigi's all 'Namaste' and I'm all 'where's the nearest Starbucks.'" Fritz saw Brenda had a hand over her mouth to stifle her laugh.

"Ahem, 'Gigi' is right here," Lily said, looking amused. "Alexis, why don't you show our guests to the sunporch for some appetizers while I finish in the kitchen?"

"Gigi, I can't, no, remember what I told you about the interview? Now is the perfect time." Instead of addressing her grandmother's obvious confusion, she turned to Brenda. "I was thinking about you and all the cool stuff you did as head of—let me think—yeah, Major Crimes of the LAPD, that's it, and how amazing it was for a woman to be that high up in the police department. And then I remembered that for one of the classes I'll be taking fall term, Gender Studies, we're supposed to interview a woman who is a pioneer in her field. And I thought, hey, if Brenda actually shows, I'm gonna interview her, because hello, a cop would be really different. Then when you called, I texted my friend Natalie, who's a senior and took the class last year, and she gave me the teacher's e-mail, and Ms. Polk told me what questions I need to ask for the assignment. So is it okay, Brenda, if I interview you?" Alexis looked so earnest that Fritz didn't think even Provenza could say no to her.

"Alexis!" Lily said. "I told you after dinner! Let our guest sit down and have something to eat and drink first. Try and be a good hostess. I'm sure there will be time after we eat."

"GeeeGeee…." the elongated whine belied the girl still existing in the young woman's body. "Everyone will be tired after dinner. And old people get sleepy after they eat, and Brenda and Fritz will want to go home, and I'll never get my interview!" She all but stamped her foot.

"That's the right approach, Alexis," Lily said coolly, "insult the person you are asking a favor of by calling them old. See how far that gets you in life."

Fritz and Brenda hadn't been able to get a word in edgewise. Finally Brenda, laughing, held up her hand. "Am I gonna have to charge you with felony whinin', Alexis? I'd be more than happy to have you interview me. In fact, I'm flattered. And no offense, Lily, but I think Alexis is right. I'm probably sharper now than I will be stuffed with chocolate dessert and a couple glasses of wine."

Alexis stuck her tongue out at her grandmother.

"Such a gracious winner," she sighed. "That's fine, that's fine. Dinner won't be ready for another 45 minutes. But we are all going out the sun porch and fill our plates with Hors d'oeuvres and get something to drink, I insist. Don't starve Brenda while you interview her."

Alexis bounded away and the others followed through several large rooms, all brightly painted and tastefully decorated, to a large sunporch filled with huge potted plants and comfortable chairs. A long tile table was set with several appetizers, and Fritz filled his plate with hummus and pita, chips and salsa, small spinach pies, baked brie and apricots, crackers, fresh bread, and crudité. Pitchers of lemonade and ice tea awaited him, along with Brenda's wine. Brenda filled up a plate too, and poured herself a glass of Merlot. She smiled at him, all traces of her previous discomfort gone, and followed Alexis down the hall. _Make Brenda the center of someone's attention and she's as happy as a clam,_ he thought fondly.

Lily poured herself a glass of wine and turned to Fritz. "I guess it's just you and me then, Fritz," she said. "My mother would be horrified to see me taking a guest into the kitchen to entertain them, but my Tagine needs my attention. I hope you don't mind." She gestured towards the door with her wine glass and began to leave the sunporch.

"Of course I don't mind, Lily. Don't most parties end up in the kitchen anyways?"

"Yes, they do. Why do you suppose that is?"

"Close proximity to the food. At least that's my reason for hanging out in the kitchen."

A few turns later they came to the kitchen of Fritz' s dreams. He stopped at the entrance and took it all in. It was large and painted a welcoming yellow, with the counters a matching cheery Mexican tile of blue and orange. A huge double window behind the sink overlooked the front yard, filling the kitchen with light. The counters stretched the length of the sizable room, forming an "L" when they hit the far wall. They were covered with every kitchen appliance one could need: a mixer, blender, ricer, slow cooker, and a few Fritz couldn't recognize. On the opposite wall from the sink was a built in desk and a second window, complete with a bench. But oh, it was the island that made Fritz want to weep with envy. It was covered with the same tile as the counters, and it easily could have seated eight people, although there were only four chairs, two on each side. In the middle of the island was a small second sink. He mind flitted to the horrible dated kitchen in their new house and he allowed himself a moment of self-pity.

"Lily, this kitchen is amazing!" Fritz walked around and looked at the built-in bookcase that was next to a doorway in the back of the kitchen. "I doubt Julia Child's kitchen was this nice."

Lily had sat down her wine, and was stirring the contents of one of the many large pots on the stove . She turned around smiled at him.

"Why, thank you, Fritz. I walk in here and think this place is beautiful because of all the memories I associate with it. It's nice to see it through a new friend's eyes." Her stirring done, she walked over to the magnificent island and sat down, picked up a knife, and pulled a cutting board covered with vegetables close to her. She stopped, her hand poised to pick up a cucumber, and got a puzzled look on her face.

"Fritz, do you mind if I ask you something?" she said, gesturing for him to take a seat in one of the chairs opposite her.

"Go right ahead, please."

"You told me at the airport at that are a recovering alcoholic. And yet you brought wine tonight. I find that odd."

Fritz took a bite of cheese and crackers. "Brenda loves her Merlot. And it doesn't bother me in the least that she has it in the house or that she drinks it. Wine was never my beverage of choice. I always went for Scotch."

"Ahhh," Lily said, and picked up the cucumber. "It's just that I don't know a lot of people in recovery that can have any type of alcohol in their house."

Fritz shrugged. "It's never bothered me. Brenda has offered many times to only drink when we're out, or to stop drinking in front of me all together, but I've had times when the urge to drink has hit me pretty hard, and Brenda's wine hasn't appealed to me in the least. Now if she had bottles of Dewars all over the house, I'd be in trouble."

Lily started chopping the cucumber with vigor and they sat in a comfortable silence, Fritz fantasizing about what he could do with a kitchen like this. _All that cabinet space! I could finally unpack the full Calphalon set the Johnson extended family got us for our wedding but we never had room for._ He was mentally arranging a similar kitchen for all of Brenda and Fritz's kitchen gadgets when Lily interrupted his thoughts.

"I have this strange sort of entitlement, Fritz, and you really shouldn't let me get away with it. But I feel that since you're in my home, I can ask you questions with impunity. Isn't that awful?" She had stopped chopping and was looking him, a bemused expression on her face.

"I think that's very fair," he answered. "It's like doing a background check on a person you let into your home." He looked at the salad fixings she was working on. "Can I help you with that? I got an 'A' in Home Ec.'"

She reached under the island and opened a cabinet and pulled out a small cutting board, then grabbed a knife from a wooden block on the counter. "Yet another thing that would give my very proper mother a heart attack. Putting a dinner guest to work." She got Fritz set up with a few vegetables and returned to her own work.

"Where was I? Oh yes, professing my supposed guilt for prying." Her lips turned up at the corners. "I was just wondering if you and Brenda were newlyweds. The way you greeted each other at the airport made me think that you are."

Fritz paused for a second. "I guess that depends on the definition of newlywed, Lily, but I don't think we fit the bill. We got married over four years ago." He can't believe they were getting ready to celebrate their fifth wedding anniversary. At times he still felt as flummoxed and lovestruck by her as he did when they were first dating.

"Oh, I would definitely call that a newlywed," Lily said. "I was married for 30 years, and five years in we were still fighting over how to hang the toilet paper." They both laughed.

"At least your husband replaced it. That's more than Brenda seems capable of." He noticed a shadow crossed over her face when he mentioned her husband, but her lovely face returned to its warm countenance so quickly that he wondered if he imagined it.

"My rude prodding continues," she said, tearing lettuce into small pieces and putting into a wooden bowl. "You haven't mentioned any kids. I'm going to assume, which one should never do of course, that this is a second marriage for one or both of you." Fritz nodded his head. "Any children from a past marriage, or do you have a little one that you forgot to mention?"

Now it was Fritz's turn to feel bad. He wanted kids, he really did. He wanted the chance to be a better father than the one he had, and he wanted it so badly he ignored Brenda's not-so-subtle hints that she wasn't interested. Two years ago, when he made what he thought was an innocuous comment about the pitter-patter of little feet, Brenda turned around and faced him, fury in her eyes. With a slow, deliberate glacial chill in her voice, she said, "Take the hint, Fritz. _ I. Do. Not. Want. Kids_." She turned on her heels and went into the bedroom, slamming the door shut, and they hadn't talked about it since.

He shook his head. "No, no kids from our first marriages. And we were a little long in the tooth to start a family when we got married." _A little white lie, thanks to the miracle of modern science half of LA has babies in their 40's._

Lily looked at him, wise eyes probing hidden parts of him. "You're disappointed," she said softly. "I'm sorry about that."

Fritz shrugged. He was sorry too, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. He had repeated the Serenity prayer thousands of times over his years in AA, and slowly, he became a more peaceful and accepting man who realized there are some things he just had to take as they are. Brenda Leigh Johnson is one of those immutable forces he had to just accept.

"You know, Fritz, there are a lot of ways to be a parent in this world besides reproducing," Lily said. "There are a lot of kids in desperate need of love and guidance with biological parents who can't give it to them."

"I guess," he said, and attacked a radish with more enthusiasm than needed.

Lily sighed. "My middle daughter tells me I do this. Jump into therapist mode and offend people. It seems like she's right."

"You didn't offend me, Lily. Wait, are you a therapist?"

She nodded. "I'm a licensed clinical social worker. I'm mostly retired now. I just run a couple of therapy groups and provide supervision for colleagues. But for 40 years I worked with kids, mostly teenagers."

"I can't imagine what a hard job that must be," Fritz said. "When Brenda was Chief of Major Crimes, she met some of the worst parents anyone could imagine. And of course, kids with terrible home lives turn to gangs and ended up in Brenda's interrogation room for committing some horrible violent crime. The 19-year-old brother of a detective in her Squad was shot and killed by a fourteen-year-old. Only fourteen!"

Lily shook her head. "That's heartbreaking. For Brenda's detective and for the boy, whose life is basically over before it really started."

"It must have been so hard, to see kids like that, and then come home to your own. Do you just have the one daughter?" Fritz put his sliced radishes in the salad bowl. "See, I can be nosy too."

"Ah, but what woman doesn't want to brag about her children?" Lily said. She walked over to the desk and picked up a framed picture and handed it to Fritz. It was of Lily and three other women who bore a strong family resemblance, standing in front of the Grand Canyon.

"That was a mother-daughter trip my girls dragged me on two years ago, after my husband died." Fritz heard a note of melancholy in her voice. Lily pointed to a tall woman with red hair. "That's Savannah, my oldest daughter, and Alexis's mother. She's a heavy hitter in a prestigious corporate law firm in Boston. Savannah was offered the job four years ago and left LA with her family. Nearly broke my heart not to have Alexis close to me anymore. Oh, and my daughter, of course," she said quickly. "It's just that Alexis and I are two peas in a pod, and I miss her terribly. She plans to come to California for college, and I'm thrilled." She turned back to the picture and pointed to a woman with short dark hair and Lily's warm smile. "This is Penny. She lives in the Napa Valley with her wife, and they run the loveliest Bed and Breakfast. She and Karen just adopted a baby girl from China a few months ago." She pointed to the final woman in the photo. "And last but not least is my youngest, Violet. Violet is a PhD student at UCLA in Microbiology." Violet had waist-length auburn hair and had to be a doppelganger for her mother's younger self.

"Does everyone tell you she looks like you?"

"Oh yes," Lily said in mock exasperation. "And Violet believes because of our resemblance, and that we are both named after flowers, she is my self-appointed keeper. She lives a few miles away and stops by constantly. I really wish she would get a boyfriend or perhaps a dog so she would have someone else to focus on. You think her dissertation would keep her out of my hair, but it doesn't." Fritz looked at the pretty young woman, who appeared to be in her early 30's. He was surprised she didn't have men lined up.

"What a beautiful family," Fritz said. "How did you find time to raise three girls and work a demanding job at the same time?"

Lily slowly sat down in the chair opposite Fritz. She busied herself arranging vegetables on the cutting board in front of her. "That's quite a story, Fritz. You've been so forthcoming, so I have no problem sharing my tale of woe with you, if you truly want to hear it. Wanting a 'background check' on your hostess makes perfectly good sense. After all, I am cooking for you." She took a sip of her wine, her lips twisted in a small smile.

"I'm not too worried about poisoning." Fritz lowered his voice. "I shouldn't say this, but I'm pretty convinced some of Brenda's cooking could be considered a biohazard." Lily shook her head disapprovingly at him. Fritz was honestly curious about her, this elegant woman with a large streak of hippie, a Buddhist who lived in a large beautiful home. She exuded a sense of calm that pervaded everything. Fritz felt like being around her was akin to taking a deep breath after jogging, especially after being surrounded by Brenda's frenetic energy. He sensed she was no stranger to struggle and loss, and was one of those rare people who knew how to engulf their sorrow and make it part of themselves, yet continue living. He again was reminded of his beautiful mother, who was swallowed whole by his father's drinking, loving him despite of it, so much so that she died only a year after him. A familiar_ "if only_," appeared in his thoughts, but like so many other things that flitted through his mind, he brushed the thought away.

"I'd love to hear more about your life, Lily, but only if you're comfortable sharing," he said.

She shrugged and set down her knife. " I always told my clients that talking about the painful things in life takes away a little bit of their power over you each time you share. But I guess you know that, being in AA." Fritz nodded. She laced her fingers together and took a deep breath. "Let me see, where to start. Well, like so many people my age, I was an idealistic child of the 60's, and I was determined to change the world, but I was also a bit of a romantic. I fell in love married way too young, too stupid to know better, and had the three girls. Somehow I managed to finish graduate school between babies, no thanks to my first husband. He wasn't much help with the kids." She bowed her head and looked and her interwoven fingers. "He was an alcoholic. It took me a long time to realize it, because it was the early 70's and everyone did drugs and drank heavily. But when he lost his job and crashed our car with Savannah in it I couldn't afford to be in denial anymore." An old weariness seemed to fill her body, as if she were reliving the experience. "Luckily, Savannah only broke her leg, but I had had enough. I told Jim to leave, and that if he wanted to save our marriage he had to get help for his drinking."

"Did he?" Fritz prompted. He so wanted this story to have a happy ending. Alcoholics who hurt others and never sought help made him angry. As superficial as it sounded, he felt that they made him look bad; when people heard he was an alcoholic, they would think he was like this guy, not a man in recovery with stable life. But deep down he knew this snobbery was just covering up his worst fears. _Therefore but the grace of god go I._

Lily shook her head slowly. "No, Jim didn't get any help. Instead, he just disappeared. He up and left without ever saying goodbye to the girls, and leaving me in a terrible financial situation."

"No one knew where he was?"

"If they did, they did an excellent job lying to me. And believe me, I went around and asked everyone, family, friends, coworkers. No one had seen him. I needed him, needed what little money he had. I had no idea how I was going to support three kids on a social worker's salary." Her voice had an edge of panic, as if this time in her life was never quite as far in the past as she would like it to be.

"The bank foreclosed on our house. I had to move us to a two-bedroom apartment. The girls were miserable and missed their dad. I was so broke, on the weekends I worked in a bookstore for extra cash. My parents had to give me money to survive. As my Buddhist friends would say, it was a time in my life full of opportunities, for immense personal growth." She spoke the last few words with a twinge of sarcasm in her voice.

"I guess that's one way of looking at things when your life falls apart."

"Meditation teaches me not to get upset at things I can't change. Unfortunately, I've had to learn this lesson more than once."

"Always, about two years after Jim left, I met this nice doctor when visiting one of my patients in the hospital. I liked him instantly, but the very last thing I wanted was a man in my life. But he was incredibly persistent. Here I was, barely able to afford to feed my kids, and I had an apartment full of red roses from Walter. That was his name." Again, a shadow marred her lovely features. "From the first date on, we were inseparable. I wasn't sure I believed in soul mates until I met Walter, and then I knew I had found mine." Her eyes glistened, but Fritz suspected the dignified woman was not going to let herself cry in front of him.

"I never believed in fate until it brought Brenda to me," he said softly. "If you can, go ahead. I love to hear love stories."

She cleared her throat. "A love story. I like that. Walter would have too. Let's see, where was I before I decided that having an emotional outburst is an excellent way to make a guest feel comfortable…oh yes. Walter was ten years older than me, and he had never been married before. Since I couldn't find my husband, I claimed abandonment and got a divorce without him present. We got married a month after that was final, on the beach, just our immediate families. It was so magical." Fritz could tell by the way her eyes had glazed over that she was far away, standing next to Walter on that long-ago night, risking her heart for a fresh start.

"This was my wedding present," she said, waving her arms around, indicating the house. "Walter had a nice little bachelor pad, but not big enough for four additional people. And I could hardly wait to get out of our cramped apartment. So a couple of weeks before we got married we went to look at houses. He told me there was one not listed, and he drove here. I stood outside and said it was beautiful, but much too expensive, and then he handed me the keys."

"You know, men like him make the rest of us look bad."

"That's just the kind of guy he was. He loved to spoil me and the girls. They really loved him. They were wary, of course, since their father abandoned them. But he was patient, and slowly they came to see he wasn't going to leave. He adopted them a few years later, so he was their legal father."

She stood up went to the stove to fuss with the pots. "My kids hint that I should sell this place now that Walter's gone and get a smaller one. But I don't want to. I love this house and all the memories that live here. I'm not leaving until I am well into my dotage." She pulled out a bag of what looked like rice out of the cabinet and began to measure it.

Her back to Fritz, she said softly, "I'm sure you can figure out the rest of this story for yourself, Fritz, seeing that you have yet to meet Walter wandering around." She sighed, a deep sigh full of old, dusty pain, and turned around, leaning on the counter as she looked at him.

"Walter died two years ago, from pancreatic cancer. He only lived six months after he was diagnosed. By the time I accepted the idea he was sick, he was gone." Her voice quivered. Ibit. But he knew from experience that when you feel like a mess, pretend you have everything together, and eventually you find you aren't acting.

"I miss him terribly," she said softly, struggling to regain control of her voice. She looked at Fritz again. "You told me Brenda's mother had just passed, and she was in Atlanta comforting her father, is that correct?"

He nodded. He didn't know what to say in the face of such dignified grief.

Lily shook her head slowly. "I wish I could tell Brenda that it was going to get easier for her father, that she just needed to give him time. But that would be a lie. It just gets harder and harder, and the grief never seems to recede." She forced a smile. "Good thing for you, Fritz, is that you and Brenda are many decades away from having to go through that. I shouldn't be burdening you with an old person's grief you won't know, god willing, for a very long time." She turned to the sink and filled a pot with boiling water.

"I came close, Lily," Fritz said, his voice rough and barely recognizable to his own ears. His eyes became unfocused as those feelings of horror, the ones he tried to keep locked up, broke free of their prison. "Very recently, I almost lost Brenda." Her friendly kitchen suddenly felt cold.

Lily turned around at the change in his tone and silently rejoined him at the island. The grieving widow was gone, and was replaced by the therapist. "Fritz, what happened?"

And just like at the airport, he found himself spilling everything about Phillip Stroh and the night he almost took Brenda away. The more he spoke, the more horrified Lily looked. When he finished, she had both hands over her mouth, and her eyes were as wide as saucers.

"Oh, Fritz, I am so sorry…I heard about that man on the news, I didn't realize…" she reached over and took a large sip of her wine. Just that moment, Alexis's high-pitched laughter, accompanied by Brenda's lower one, spilled into the kitchen from parts unknown. Lily turned her head towards and cocked her head. .

"Fritz, I don't mean to pry, but she seems so…together. She must be seeing someone to work through the trauma of this."

Fritz shook his head. "Nope. She absolutely refuses. I talked to her about it before she went to Atlanta and she went nuts. No offense, but Brenda doesn't like therapists."

"Why in the world not? Doesn't she realize she's most likely suffering from some PTSD from what happened?"

Fritz picked up a baby carrot destined for the salad and ate it. "Lily, if I tried to explain Brenda to you, we would be here all week. She is a very intense, complicated woman. She is also extremely private, and not terribly introspective. "

"So…she's fine?"

"Oh no, I didn't say that. She can barely stand to be in the apartment. Luckily, we're moving in ten days. When we come home I have to check the bathroom to make sure no one has crawled through the window. And the nightmares…" He rubbed his face with his hands, hating to even think about those late night visitors. "They are the most horrific things I've ever seen. The entire bed shakes, she practically screams, her arms and legs flying everywhere…" His stomach turned over at the memory. "I feel so sorry for her, because she's just terrified. It takes me five minutes to wake her up. So no, to answer your question, she's not fine." He hadn't meant to rant like that, but it felt so good to have someone to talk to. Jerry was sympathetic up to a point, but he had heard about Stroh so many times. He was not a big fan of Brenda to begin with. Fritz didn't think Jerry would really care to hear all the details about Brenda's tortured nights, or Fritz's concern about them. Male friendship does have its limits.

"I'm not surprised at all that she's having nightmares," Lily said. "We have to process terrifying experiences one way or another, and if she won't do it in her waking hours, her subconscious is going to do it when she's asleep." Lily stood up. "But this is something I actually think I can help with. Follow me."

She turned and walked through the doorway at the end of the kitchen, which Fritz had noticed and assumed it led to a pantry. It might have been a pantry at one time, or in a snowy climate it could have been a mud room, but Lily had turned it into something very different. It was about a quarter the size of the kitchen, with thick curtains over the windows to make the room dark. There were a few cabinets in the walls, and a low counter ran along one side of the room. In the center was a small square beat-up maple table with a mortar and pestle on it, along with several old-fashioned dark brown medicine bottles in various sizes.

The most fascinating thing about the small room, though, was that a couple dozen dried herbs were bundled and hung upside down from the ceiling. The effect made Fritz think of what an Elizabethan apothecary would have looked like. He took a deep breath and enjoyed the mingling of all the different dried herbs as they interwove in his nose.

"Lily, what is this room? And do you have a cauldron?"

"Of course Fritz, she answered mildly. "It's over there with my pointy hat and black cap." She slowly looked around her. "As you have probably deduced, being an FBI agent, this is my herb room." She walked over to one of the cabinets and opened it. Rows and rows of neatly labeled jars, all filled with various shades of plant material, were inside. "I've studied herbalism for, let's see, about twenty years now." She pulled out a mason jar, then moved to the next cupboard over and retrieved a couple more.

"You're an herbalist too? What did your husband think about that, being a doctor?"

One at a time, she sat the mason jars on the table and went to the other side of the room. "First of all, I don't consider myself an 'herbalist.' I don't practice. I just make things for myself and family and friends. And as far was Walter was concerned, he didn't care, because I'm not one of those people who believe Western medicine is some evil institution only out to make money, and you should use herbs and nothing else. That is utterly ridiculous. Herbs, and essential oils, as I am going to show you in a minute, do a very nice job fitting into crevices where Western medicine just can't reach. I like the term 'complementary medicine' best." She squatted in front of a small brown set of drawers and was pulling out tiny brown bottles.

"Now here is the part where you decide I am a batty old lady and you could have done something much more interesting with your Saturday." Her eyes sparkled as she started to unscrew the mason jar lids.

"Not if you tell me what you're doing."

She stopped and put her hands on the table. "You said Brenda is having nightmares, but won't get help. I have some great herbs that work really well for nightmares. A cup of tea before bedtime and this should keep the monsters at bay."

"Really?" Something natural that could ward off the monsters, it sounded perfect. Could he get Brenda to drink it? Out loud, he asked, "Are these safe?"

Lily nodded. "I am going to write down all the ingredients on the bag, so feel free to research the herbs and see for yourself." She pulled a measuring cup and bowl close to her. "I use…" she named each one as she scooped some out of the jar and into the bowl…"Hops, Passionflower, Skullcap, and, oh brace yourself, this one stinks, a pinch of Valerian."

"Yuk! Does it taste as bad as it smells?"

"Valerian couldn't possibly taste as bad as it smells. But none of these herbs taste good. That's why I add orange peel and cinnamon, to make the tea more or less palatable."

Fritz looked at the large amount of herbs in the bowl, and then at the marble mortar and pestle. "Are you going to grind all of those up using _that_?" he asked. "Because we might be here all night."

She shook her head. "Oh heaven's no. I'm not one of the witches from Macbeth, no 'boil, boil, toil and trouble' or me." She walked over to a cluttered area on the counter and came back with a large stainless steel coffee grinder. "This is so much more efficient."

"This room is like—" Fritz tried to think of the best way to describe it—"an 18th century apothecary meets the Food Network."

Lily stopped what she was doing and let loose with a deep, resonant laugh, similar to the way she guffawed at the airport when he told the story about Brenda eating Charlie's pot brownies. "Oh Fritz," she said after a few moments, gathering herself together, "I really needed that. These days I need regular reminders that despite the heartbreak in our lives, there are always wonderful things in the world." She picked up a jar of herbs and unscrewed the lid. "Like manic granddaughters. And new friends. And borderline sarcastic comments about your beloved herb room."

"But I wasn't …"

"Hush," Lily said. "Don't diminish a perfectly good chuckle by not letting me tease you."

"Alright then. Perfect moments are few and far between. Tease away."

...

"I don't think I've ever had Moroccan before," Brenda said, helping herself to more cous cous with roasted vegetables. "It's delicious, Lily. Is there any more beef tagine left and if so, do y'all mind passin' it?" Brenda eagerly held out her hand as Alexis passed a large covered dish.

"Oh, there's plenty, Brenda. I still cook like there are four other people in the house. Just make sure to leave room for dessert, or Alex will feel all her hard work went to waste," Lily said.

"Don't worry about that," Fritz answered, noticing Brenda's mouth was too full of spicy food to speak. "For Brenda, there's always room for dessert."

They were sitting on the back porch around a large glass table under a wooden overhang covered in vines. Although the evening had cooled off considerably, the large pool next to them still looked inviting.

"Alexis, your grandmother said you're going to come to California to college, is that right?" The girl had grown on Fritz, and her teenage enthusiasm seemed to enliven Brenda. She came out of Alexis' "interview" with cheeks glowing from laughter. She was in much better spirits than when he had dragged her out the door to drive to Lily's, when she acted like a tantruming child.

Alexis nodded eagerly. "Oh, for sure. Boston has tons of good colleges but I like LA soooo much better. Plus, I get to live with Gigi." With that, she shoved a sizable amount of food into her mouth, smirking.

Lily set down her fork, and with the universal expression one wears when preparing to have the same conversation for the thousandth time, said in a soft but firm voice, "Alexis, I am tired of discussing this with you. You are not going to live here."

Alexis swallowed her food and rested her chin on her fist, looking up at the sky, appearing bored. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. It's somehow really important for my personal development to live in a dorm room the size of a closet and have a roommate who will probably have her boyfriend spend the night all the time. Yeah, no thanks."

"Alexis, making friends in college is a huge part of the experience," Lily said. "It won't be the same if you're a commuter student. Trust me. The best time in my life was in college, mainly because of the people I met there."

"Gigi, do you want me to end up living in a commune stoned out of my brains most of the time and having bad acid trips as weekend entertainment? Cuz Gigi, you didn't make that sound like all that much fun." Alexis played with her braid and kept her eyes skyward, a smug look on her face. Fritz thought that Alexis was being very disrespectful. _If I had spoken to my grandmother like that_, he thought, _I would have a red handprint on my cheek._

"Alexis Powers-Rosenthal! Watch your mouth in front of guests." Lily's voice was soft and slow, but with unmistakable hint of anger. "We will table this discussion until you get accepted into a college around here, in a year and a half. Until then, be polite!" Lily picked up her fork and resumed eating, but never took her steely gaze off her granddaughter.

"Sorry, Gigi," Alexis answered, eyes downcast. It was a testimony to how much the girl loved her grandmother that just a few sharp words could take the winds out of her sails.

Hoping to end the uncomfortable silence that followed, Fritz asked a subdued Alexis, "Do you have any idea what you're going to study when you go to college?"

Alexis straightened up and her usual eager expression reappeared. "Oh, yeah. I'm going do a double major in Graphic Design and Art. See, I'd rather just study Art, cuz that's what I'm good at and it's what I love, but my mother, Miss-hotshot-corporate-lawyer, keeps telling me I have to have something practical to fall back on. I'm really good with computers and have played around with designing websites, so it's all good."

"What kind of art?" Brenda asked. "Paintin'? Sculpture? Tell me it's not that weird performance art." Brenda sipped her wine and shuttered. "Cuz that's just awful."

"Nah, that's not _real_ art," Alexis said. "I'm really good at drawing, and I've taking a couple painting classes and really got into it, and I want to learn more." She leaned in toward Brenda and Fritz, and whispered theatrically, "_If _I get to live here, I'm gonna ask Gigi if I can turn that old guesthouse—" she nodded towards a small, rundown building on the other side of the pool—"into a studio. Wouldn't that be cool?" She smiled like a Cheshire cat.

Whether out of surrender or out of graciousness toward her guests, Lily pretended not to hear.

"I guess some day can say we knew you when," Fritz teased.

Alexis got a look on her face like someone had just handed her keys to a Porsche. "Oh!" she exclaimed, and slapped her hand down on the table. Fritz noticed Brenda jumped at the noise.

"I can't believe I almost forgot!" Alexis said, pushing her chair back and almost knocking it over as she turned toward the house. "Wait here!"

Fritz wasn't sure where else they would go.

"Honey, we're in the middle of dinner, will you please…" Lily started, but Alexis was already back in the house. She turned to Brenda and Fritz. "I really don't know why I bother."

Brenda smiled. "She's adorable, and she loves you so much. It's sweet."

"It is sweet," Lily said. "She just drives me a little crazy sometimes."

"I was real close to my grandma too," Brenda said. "I spent almost every day at her house until I left for college. She understood me like no one else did. "

"There's something really nice about being a grandparent," Lily said. "You almost get a second chance to be a better parent with your grandkids, but you don't have all the burdens and responsibilities you did the first time around."

Alexis came trotting out through the sliding glass door, holding something flat in her hands, a few sizes bigger than a piece of paper. She walked over to Brenda and Fritz.

She placed the object, which Fritz now saw was two thin pieces of cardboard, on an empty space on the table.

"This," she said, with flourish, "is for you two." She took off the top piece of cardboard.

It was a drawing of Brenda and Fritz in the airport. They were holding each other Brenda's arms around Fritz's neck, staring intently. The likeness was remarkable. They were the center of the drawing and were in vivid colors; the maroon of Fritz's shirt blended with Brenda's red dress. Immediately around them, faces and bodies of fellow passengers can be seen, but the farther out from the center of the picture, the more indistinct and blurry the other people become, until they are only black and white squiggles. It looked like Brenda and Fritz had drawn all the attention from the artist and focused it on themselves, like a vortex.

It was magnificent.

"Alexis, did you do this?" Fritz asked, and then realizing he had just asked for a sarcastic teenage response, quickly added, "Of course you did. I'm just speechless. You have so much talent for someone your age. This is amazing!"

Brenda couldn't stop staring at the picture. "You drew us?" she said softly. "What made you want to draw us?" She finally dragged her eyes away from the artwork and looked the young girl.

Alexis shrugged. "Not to get all mushy or anything, and by the way this for you to keep, so I'm glad you like it, but I guess I drew you guys because I couldn't get you out of my mind. I kinda had to draw you." She looked embarrassed.

Fritz looked at Lily, who had her hands crossed and was watching the entire exchange with a knowing curiosity.

"What do you mean, 'you couldn't get us out of your mind?'" Asked Brenda. "Was that cuz we embarrassed ourselves by our public display of affection?"

"Nooo," Alexis answered, shrugging, and then like a snake sheds its skin, batted away her embarrassment and looked Fritz in the eye. "It's just that I never saw two people so into each other before."

* * *

"Shiva!" Fritz heard Brenda exclaim as he walked into the bedroom, holding a cup of Lily's tea. Brenda was lying on top of the bed in a tank top and underwear. He stopped in the doorway and leaned against the frame, admiring her.

"Yes?"

"Remember the statue in Lily's yard, the guy with all the arms? The name just came to me. Shiva. The Destroyer." Brenda leaned back against the pillows and looked very pleased with herself.

"I don't think I would want a statue of 'the Destroyer' in my front lawn," he answered. "Seems like bad luck."

"You know what's real _good_ luck?" she said. "Feedin' me four types of desserts. Givin' me offerin's of chocolate is a very, very good thing." She stretched, looking happy and relaxed.

"You're not a goddess," he said teasingly.

She pouted. " I could be," she said. "Especially if I ate desert like that every day. Yeah, I'd be feelin' pretty holy with all those sweets in me." She rolled over on her back and rubbed her tummy.

It indeed had been a wonderful dessert at Lily's. After dinner, Alexis had gone into the house to set up dessert in the dining room while Brenda helped Lily clear the table. Fritz enjoyed the twilight until Brenda's squeal of delight drew him inside.

Alexis stood at the head of a large rectangular dining room table, looking pleased. "Brenda, you mentioned tons of times on the plane you were all about chocolate, and when you took that Hershey's bar out of your purse, I thought you were gonna have a—" she caught her grandmother's glare and stopped herself. "Well, you just really seemed to be into chocolate. I like to bake, so I made a few different things. I hope you like."

Brenda liked. Generous leftovers of chocolate pie, peanut butter and chocolate brownies, chocolate chip cookies, and toffee bars with chocolate drizzles on top sat in their kitchen.

Now on their bed, Fritz could tell by the faraway look in Brenda's eyes that she was thinking about all those chocolate treats, laid out on Lily's beautiful china. Finally her unfocused eyes cleared and she looked at Fritz.

"Hey, whatchya got there?" she asked, nodding to the mug in Fritz's hand. He walked toward the bed and sat down next to her. She sat up.

"Tea," he said, "for you." He wondered if he could possibly spin Lily's tea this so Brenda would try it.

"Honey, I didn't ask you for any tea. Thanks, but I'm stuffed." She sniffed the mug in his hand. "What kind of tea is it? I don't recognize the smell."

Here goes nothing, Fritz thought. "Brenda, I need you to be as open-minded as possible. Can you try that for me?"

Brenda was instantly wary. She looked back and forth between the tea and Fritz. "Depends," she answered. "What am I openin' my mind to?"

"Something a little different." She shrugged and furrowed her brow, clearly confused. "Hear me out, will please?" She nodded slowly.

He set the mug on the side table. "Lily is an herbalist. Well, she doesn't call herself that because she doesn't treat people or have a business, but she's been studying herbs for 20 years."

"Good for her," Brenda said.

"Anyways," he said, ignoring her, "I mentioned to her you were having nightmares, and she…"

"Whoa," Brenda interrupted, holding out her hand in a "stop" gesture. "You told her about my bad dreams? Fritz, that is incredibly personal! Why in the world would you do that!" She was getting angry.

_Deep cleansing breath._ "I didn't mean to betray any trust, Brenda, but Lily's a therapist, and…"

"I don't care if she's the queen of England, Fritz, that's my personal business," Brenda snapped. "I can't believe you!" She crossed her arms over her chest and turned her head away from him.

Fritz shifted so he could see her better. She wasn't going to dodge him so easily. "Will you, for once, hear me out? Please Brenda?"

She frowned and said nothing. Fritz, realizing she wasn't going to engage him, said, "Lily took me into her herb room and mixed up a special tea for you, made out of herbs that ward off nightmares. I just Googled all of them, and they are completely safe, and have been used for sleep problems for a long time." Brenda just glowered.

"It's worth a try, Brenda. The herbs are safe, and at the very worst they will just make you sleepy." She still wouldn't look at him. "And she sent me home with a few other things too." Feeling a little desperate, he got up and walked to the chair where he draped the pants he had been wearing. He grabbed them and rooted through the pockets, pulling out a small brown bottle and a larger blue one. He walked back over to his wife.

"I think you'll like these," he said, trying to sound casual. She still wouldn't look at him, but now her face had taken on a reddish tinge, which usually indicated the buildup to an emotional explosion. _Maybe if I keep talking she'll calm down_, he thought.

"Lily made a couple thing with what she called essential oils. I guess it's what you get out of a plant when you crush it, and they're supposed to be helpful in a lot of conditions." He was rambling, but he didn't care. "This one," he held up the larger bottle, "is lavender. She said to spray it on your pillow and around the room before you go to bed." He shook the bottle and pumped the atomizer, and a fine mist came out. _Maybe the lavender will bring Brenda down a notch before she explodes_. "That smells nice," he said.

Nothing. Except now she was biting her lower lip. He continued.

"This other one has, let me see—" he squinted at the label— "has sandalwood, thyme, and lemon." He opened the smaller of the two bottles and sniffed. "I like the way this one smells too. Kind of woodsy, but like a lamb roast too." He got no response to his joke. "Lily said you rub a little bit of this under your nose and on your wrists before you got to bed. I gotta warn you, honey, I won't be responsible if I bite you again." He put his hand on her knee and she jerked away. He was starting to lose his patience. "Brenda, come on, look at me."

She turned her head and glared at him. "Did you tell Lily about Stroh?" she said, low and deadly.

He paused, toying with the truth, but deciding to practice what he preached. "Yeah, I did," he answered.

Brenda abruptly rolled over to the opposite side of the bed where Fritz wasn't sitting and crawled out. She turned to glare at him from across the room. "You had no right," she hissed. "That—_event_-was from my personal, private life. My life. Where do you get off—"

In a rising tide of anger, he cut her off. He stood up, pulse racing. "_Our_ life, Brenda. Our life. When are you going to get it through your head that we what happens to you affects both of us?"

"Give me a break," she snapped. "You weren't the one Phillip Stroh attacked, Fritz. It wasn't you who was almost murdered six weeks ago. It was me. Not you. Me." A sob caught in her throat.

"And whose there with you in the middle of the night when you're freaking out, Brenda?" His heart started pounding. "Who's there with you when you relive Stroh's attack in your dreams, and you refuse to get any professional help? As usual, you just expect me to be there for you, to take care of you. Do you have any idea at all how terrifying your nightmares are to me?" His breathing was growing faster, and an ugly truth slipped out before he could stop it. "A small part of me was glad you went to Atlanta, because it meant I finally got to sleep without worrying if you were going to wake me up, screaming."

Brenda was looking at him now, the anger from earlier replace with a mixture of hurt and shame. "Oh," she said. "I, I didn't know you felt that way."

He realized he had said too much. His temper had gotten the best of him. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that—"

She shook her head and interrupted him, the fury of a few minutes before drained from her "Tell me the truth, Fritz. Are you glad I'm back?" She looked at him tentatively, child-Brenda having chased off woman-Brenda.

He wanted to take back what he said, remove any insecurity he may have caused, but she needed to hear this. He ran his hand over his face, suddenly exhausted. "Oh Brenda, you know I am. I don't know how I could have made it clearer that I wanted you home. My point is that Philip Stroh happened to me too. He almost killed the person I love more than anything, and I take that very personally. And he's been affecting our marriage since you first became obsessed with him. Now I have a huge interest in addressing your nightmares, Brenda, because the place you go, the hell he takes you to-" he closed his eyes—"I have to go into that darkness and drag you back. And it's time to get creative, because I don't know how long either one of us can take this."

Brenda nodded slowly, her expression having morphed from righteous indignation to hurt to resolve, and she walked around the bed toward him. She didn't embrace him, though, as he had hoped, but instead reached over to the nightstand. She picked up the mug with one hand, it's contents lukewarm by now. She closed her eyes and took several large gulps.

"Holy crap, that tastes bad," she rasped, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. "Thanks for all the honey you put in it, but jeez, it tastes like lawn clippings." Before he could answer, she swallowed the rest like a shot of hard liquor. She shuttered and set down he mug.

He was shocked. He stood there, watching her. "You drank it," he said," his voice questioning.

"Yup," she said, finally meeting his eyes. "I guess it was the least I could do." She crawled into bed, her face neutral. She looked down and saw the small bottles he had pulled out of his pocket lying next to her. "Now, which one of these so I rub on my skin, Fritz?"

Clearly knowing her the answer to her own question, she picked up the smaller of the two and opened it, smelling it cautiously. She grunted in approval and dabbed a bit of the contents on her wrists and under her nose. "Smells nice," she murmured with a yawn, then placed the bottles in her bedside drawer and settled under the blankets.

He remained standing, still watching her in wonder. He knew if he were waiting for an acknowledgement of her fragile mental state, or for her to admit she needed help, he would be there for a long, long time. Apologies were given out judiciously, and tonight one was unlikely. He learned he couldn't go into an argument with Brenda and expect to leave with any certain victories, like spoils from a war. You were grateful for what you got.

But she drank the tea. As awful as it must have tasted, as big a leap of faith it was for Brenda to hope a bunch of herbs could be a match for Stroh's nightly attacks, she drank the tea. She drank it to make him happy, yes, _but mostly_, he thought, _it was her way of saying_, "I'm trying."

He turned off the light got into bed next to her, noticing her eyes were already closed, and she pressed her back against him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, finding her body warm and relaxed. She mumbled something unintelligible to him as he buried his face in her hair, breathing in deeply the erotic woodiness of sandalwood, the innocence of the lavender, and the tang of the other herbs. Lily's scents must have captured him in their web, too, because he was asleep before he had a chance for start worrying, as he did nightly, if their sleep would be interrupted.

The next morning the air was hazy, and without the blinding morning sunlight he didn't wake up until almost 10am. He rolled over to check on Brenda, who was still sound asleep, lying on her stomach, a small pool of drool on her pillow.

Nine precious hours of sleep, pristine, unmolested sleep, was a gift beyond measure. Fritz smiled, quietly got out of bed, and went to his dresser in search of running clothes, feeling more well rested than he had in a long time. Whether it was Lily's concoctions, finally confronting Brenda about how her attack was affecting him, or a sense that maybe, just maybe, she had turned a corner, Fritz felt a wave of optimism he hadn't felt in quite a while. _It had been so long I almost forgot what hope was_, he thought. _And I don't want to be that kind of person_.

Sneaking quietly out of the bedroom and heading to the front door for his run, he thought, _things really are going to get better. I feel it in my bones_.

**26 Days Earlier**

_Fritz was losing. Something was intent on dragging him from his dreams, and he was intent on staying where he was. It was a battle of wills, but the annoying noise finally forced Fritz into semi-consciousness. He grunted in irritation, but the mosquito-like buzz just grew louder, refusing to be swatted away._

_Brenda's damn cell phone. _

_Like he had a hundred nights before, he swung an arm over to Brenda' side of the bed to wake her, disappointment bleeding into his mental fog. Like Pavlov's bell, the buzz of the cell phone induced a summons to a crime scene, then Brenda's disappearance for days, accompanied by an empty apartment and a heavy heart. An irrational thought formed in Fritz's brain: If I crushed the cell phone, she would never leave me. He was enjoying the mental image as his arm skimmed cool sheets where his wife's body should have been. She wasn't there._

_The phone stopped for a minute, then started up again, indicating tenacious caller. In the pocket of those few seconds of silence, he realized it was his phone was ringing, not Brenda's. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and fumbled for his cell. He looked around his dark bedroom and his memory returned. Brenda doesn't work for Major Crimes any more, she's in Atlanta, and there's no crime scene. _ But who's call calling me at…he looked at the clock...five in the morning_?_

_He squinted at the caller ID. For the second time in as many days, the call was coming from the Johnson's home in Atlanta. Fritz had no doubt who it was this time. _

_"Clay," he rasped, his voice rough with sleep. "Tell me Brenda's okay."_

_"Don't worry, she's fine, son." Clay sounded as tired as Fritz felt._

_"Then why are you calling me at 5AM?" He made no attempt to hide his irritation._

_"No, it's almost eight, oh, shoot, I forgot about the three hour time difference between Atlanta and LA." Clay sighed. "I'm sorry, Fritz. I didn't mean to wake you."_

_Fritz really hoped these morning calls from Clay were not going to become a habit. _

_"Brenda," Fritz said brusquely. "When we talked last night, she was really drunk. Did you happen to see her after 9 o'clock? I just want to know she's alright."_

_Clay sounded like he had aged 20 years since yesterday. "Oh, I saw her. Been checkin' on her all night long. I knew she was drunk, and I was so worried she'd have one of those horrible nightmares and fall out of bed and hurt herself or some such thing. I stuck my head in her room every couple of hours or so." He paused. "Damndest thing. I kept catching that dog of mine lying in bed next to her like she belonged there. Maybe Vickie scared off some demons, though, or it was the Jack Daniels, because Brenda slept like a baby."_

_"Oh good," Fritz breathed. "But if you don't mind we asking, if Brenda is fine, then why are you calling?" Hey lay back down, holding the phone to his ear. _If I get Clay off the phone soon_, he thought, _I'll have two hours to sleep before I have to get up for work.

_Clay cleared his throat. "She told me—" his voice faltered. "She told me what that man tried to do to her." Clay sounded like he could barely force the words out._

_Fritz's irritation was replaced with sympathy. "I'm sorry you had to hear that, Clay."_

_Surprisingly, he agreed. "So am I," he said. "But that's not what I called to talk to this morning, Fritz. I called to ask you something." _

_Fritz pulled a pillow over his head. "Clay, I told you yesterday, if you have questions you have to ask Brenda…"_

_"No, no, nothing like that," Clay said hurriedly. This is more man to man. I just have to know something, Fritz. How did you ever let her go?"_

_Now he had Fritz's attention. He took the pillow off of his head, surrendering fantasies of holding it over his face until he passed out just to end this phone call. "What do you mean, 'let her go?' And no one 'lets' Brenda do anything, she makes her own decisions." _

_Clay chuckled. "You're right son, Brenda would rip off my head if she heard me saying something like that. What I meant was—" Fritz heard him clearing his throat several times, and knew the older man was trying to hide his emotions. "How could you stand to have her out of your sight after what that man almost did to her?" His voice broke at the end._

_Fritz sat up and crossed his legs. Now he understood what Clay was asking._

_"I don't know, Clay," Fritz answered. "She practically had to use a crow bar to get out of my arms. I held on to her so tight after Stroh's attack."_

_"But you did," Clay prodded. "She came here a little over a week after that monster tried to kill her." His voice grew thin and tight when he said the word "kill." "And she's here for an entire month. How could you stand let her get on that plane? If it were Willie Rae…" Clay's voice faded off._

_"It was so hard," Fritz said, with an honesty and vulnerability he never though he'd share with Clay. "It's still hard, every day, without her. I miss her so much, and I can't stop thinking about what could have happened. But the thing is, Clay, she wanted to spend time with you. She feels guilty for not having visited enough with Willie Rae, and she doesn't want to make the same mistake with you. And she's between jobs, so now's the time to do it. It's what she wanted, so as hard as it was to drive her to the airport three weeks ago, I kept telling myself being with you made her happy, and that mattered more than anything."_

_Clay was silent for a very long time, so long that Fritz started to drift off. Clay coughed and he jerked awake._

_"Fritz Howard, you are a much better man than I am," Clay said softy. "And I hope Brenda knows that."_

_Fritz couldn't help but smile._

**_END CHAPTER 4_**

You know what I'm gonna ask and why I'm gonna ask it…reviews are fuel for the fanfic writer. Think of me as a busker you pass on the street, and you like the music I'm playing. Toss a quarter in my hat, will you?


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